One Tit Don't Give A Shit

I hit a moment of self consciousness today that had me looking more closely at my worries, and what they’re really founded on. Since the op I’ve been practically living by the mantra “people are not counting my boobs!” I mean, it’s true. Most people are far too caught up in their own lives to pay close attention to random people on the street. In the three weeks I’ve been going merrily about one titted, I’ve noticed maybe two people giving me a confused stare (and I know it was because of the op, by virtue of said stare beginning at my breast, singular, before meandering awkwardly to my eyes.) It helps that most of my summer clothes are bright and boho, thus hiding all manner of things. But today, oh woe! I put on my favourite top and it did not skim flatteringly at all. Oh no, this blue and lilac draped number might as well have “look ma, one breast!” picked out in sequins. Of course I could have just put my “softie” on, but wearing it doesn’t feel as comfortable to me as simp

Having a mastectomy is a big fucking deal. Obviously. But I'm a look for the silver linings no matter how ludicrous kinda person (a talent I learned from my husband, Storm), so today I set myself a challenge to find them all. I can lean over to turn the bath taps on without my left breast brushing the cold bath edge, an experience I never learned to love. I can casually rest against the left side of the sofa without squishing myself uncomfortably against it. If I want to hug a soft toy (I know I'm not the only middle age person out there who just needs to cuddle a stuffed toy sometimes!), I have a built in shelf it can rest on. See? (Apparently my look on this blog is PJs and zero makeup?) My Hell Bunny coat fits better! Turns out having extra space on one side is a fantastic way to beat the dreaded gape. This has fantastic implications for future clothes shopping. Cute shirts are back in vogue (I'd long resigned myself to my huge bra size being incompatible w

I was dreading it. And I do mean dreading it. Every time I thought about it my heart started jumpity jumping and my stomach clenched into a ball of tight, terrified noodles. But I knew I couldn’t put it off. What was it, you may well ask, this nemesis that had me quaking? My first post surgery shower. Now don’t get me wrong, gentle reader. I did not smell like a skunk made out of old vegetable peelings (a genuine concern!!) Water, soap, flannels and the sink are a thing. But nothing beats a real shower and I wanted one.  But the internet had told me stories about how terrible my first post surgery shower would be. Thus, every time I thought about it, I started doing this: I had no idea what to expect. Terrible how, exactly? Should I expect a pain worse than the cruciatus curse? Would my scar fly open? Would it look like the shower from Psycho? Of course none of that was likely. But you never know. In the end, it was a big scary build up to not much (

Today is a week from my mastectomy, and boy howdy have I learned a lot, about the op, and other things. Here are my faves! It’s nowhere near as bad as I feared! In my head I was worried I’d be flat on my back for days, unable to function. But by the third day I was able to go for a short walk, and do most things, just very carefully. Phantom sensations are a real thing!! I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve told Storm “the nipple that isn’t there hurts!!” I’m stronger than I thought. When it was 2AM on surgery day and a district nurse had to come out because some sutures were loose, I was a wreck. I thought we’d have to go back to the hospital and as we don’t have a car, get a taxi home. But with encouragement from Storm, who used to be a nurse, I ascertained that there was no active bleeding and it was ok to get some sleep and rest from the op first before making decisions. This was also a great lesson in listening to what I need and doing that. People care A LOT. I

I heard a LOT of things before my mastectomy.  Most of them were variations on "however you feel after it is totally valid." Which is a great message. I'm not knocking it for a moment. Of course I read a LOT about prosthetics. Silicon vs beany vs about sixteen other types, and which bras to buy to prevent the situation of one's breast going airborne and slinging itself across aisle five in the supermarket. I heard a lot of "it'll take a while to get used to", too. And I read several stories of people finding their first view of the scar deeply traumatic, or suffering with PTSD as a result of the operation.  Again, not criticizing any of those reactions. There is no right / wrong here, and it's not a contest. We all cope with things in our own way according to our feelings and unique challenges. But no one told me there was another option As helpful as it was to hear that it might take a while, that I might have mixed feelings, that seein