The Power to Choose

Size c prosthesis and bra

Having both breasts removed was extremely difficult for me, but amid all the negatives accompanying breast cancer and surgery, there have also been some positives. I’d like to share one of those positives with you today. I’m hoping I won’t offend anyone. I’m sharing this with my tongue in my cheek because after all, we do need to look for some humor along our journey, don’t we? I don’t know about you, but I get tired of all the seriousness of breast cancer in my life. I’ve started looking for some more light hearted moments and today, I found one!

It was time for my check up with the oncologist. I’d made my appointment for the earliest part of the day because that’s when I’m most energetic. I wandered into my walk in closet and selected the clothing I’d wear to the appointment. I tried to find something lightweight and cool. After making my selections, I lay my clothing across the bed while I went into the bathroom to shower. I dried off and prepared to dress. Since having my surgery, I always start with the lower half of my body because the top half usually takes a little more time to get ready. Wiggling into my pants, I began to think about the day. I wondered what the Doc would have to say and what tests he might run. Finally, the bottom half of me was ready and I shifted my focus to the top half. I’d already picked out a blouse but hadn’t chosen a bra or prostheses yet. Smiling to myself, I suddenly realized I had the power to choose and not just the power to choose a bra, but the power to choose the size of my boobs!

The insurance company allows me to have a new set of prostheses every two years. When I chose my first pair of prostheses, I chose the smallest pair available. I’d always been small chested so why would I even think about choosing a bigger size, it would be unnatural…well, sort of. The fitter at the boutique advised me to remember my scars were fresh and my wounds were tender. She thought my choice of a smaller, lighter weight boobs was best. I was proud of my little size A fake boobs and took them home with care instructions. The majority of the time, I didn’t even wear them unless I was going out in public. It was more comfortable to remain flat chested at home. Two years passed quickly and I got excited when I found it was time for an upgrade. I returned to the boutique and asked the fitter to help me find a more substantial set of boobs. She asked my preference, B, C, D. I thought for a few minutes and picked a happy medium. I’d always wanted to be a C and now was my chance. After trying them on for size, I was overjoyed and left with my new bosoms.

In my chest of drawers were two sets of pink zippered cases. Inside each of these little round cases were my prostheses. In the top drawer were my little size A boobs. In the drawer just below it were my size Cs. Decisions, decisions. Did I want to wear the smaller, more comfortable boobs or did I want to really stand out and wear the heavier size Cs? I had the power to choose! I opened the cases for both sets of prostheses and lay them on my bed. I pulled out a size A bra and a size C bra. I stood staring at the boobs for a few minutes and decided today was a size C day! As I slid my C boobs into the bra a big ol’ Cheshire grin crossed my face. Cancer had taken so much away from me but now I got to choose. It was a really little choice, but it was mine nonetheless.

It’s so hard to deal with a post cancer body image. The scars and after effects of chemo and radiation leave such permanent marks on our bodies. Just knowing we have a tiny bit of power to choose how we look is amazing! I’m so thankful I was able to choose between two different sizes of prostheses and believe me, there’s a huge difference between size A and size C prostheses! HUGE!

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it. This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair. But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules.

Cancer the gift that keeps on giving - the high cost of cancer

There's a basket of bills sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I try not to look at it as I enter the room but I know it's there. Its contents spill out onto the floor whenever my husband stuffs another bill into the basket. Usually, when the mail comes, he gets it first so he can filter what I see and what I don't see. Since he's the only one working, he takes care of our financial responsibilities and while I'm thankful for that, I'm not ignorant about our mounting bills. Cancer is expensive. Even if you've reached maintenance phase, it's costly. There are always tests to be run, blood to be taken, doctors to see. It never ends. Just knowing this will be a continual process for the rest of my life frustrates me and the alternative, death, will be my only way out. It would be nice to know that cancer could be a once and done kind of thing but that's only wishful thinking. Everyone knows cancer is a long and very involved illness. I had no id

Incoming!

When I was a kid, I remember listening to my Daddy occasionally talk about being in the service. Those occasions were very rare so whenever he'd talk, I'd really listen. Once he told about being outside a bunker in Japan. He said planes were flying overhead and he heard a guy yell, "Incoming!" They knew that meant it was imperative to take cover and they did, but some of the soldiers weren't fast enough. They lost their lives in a split second. That one word was a very serious warning and one I never forgot. I think my eyes bugged out of my head when he first said it although he didn't say it in a frightening way. I imagined the sounds of aircraft overhead as the warning went out. And imagined how I'd have felt if I'd been right there with him. I'd have been petrified, probably unable to move. No wonder so many soldiers came back from war with post traumatic stress syndrome (PTSD). And when they were freshly home, it didn't take much to set t

Journey Out of Pink

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