I’m going to give you a glimpse of my experience of choosing artificial boobs (if my husband had a say he’d strongly advocate for large or extra-large, but he doesn’t, not because I don’t want him to but it’s not possible, after radiation, scar tissue, expander fills and blah blah blah there are factors I don’t control and neither does he!). I want to clarify for a minute, my husband is happy with whatever. We’ve joked about it from the beginning of this because it helps and it IS funny. Porno boobs weren’t in our budget forecast. Are you excited? I was. This was the HIGHLIGHT. After over a year of scans, treatments, bloodwork, biopsies, wigs, scars, burns, poison, nails peeling & falling off, face rashes, PICC line, nurse visits, medications…. picking out my implants was like having access to a secret world. Any sexy breast cancer lady will tell you that they really don’t give a crap about the fake ones. They would trade a pair of implants for their pre-cancer life ANY day. A breast cancer blogger I followed wrote that after the cancer came back she asked the doctors if it would make a difference if they were to remove them, would her chance of survival increase?…nope. You get my point. I feel blessed for my options, but I really do miss my old ones. Anyways. Or maybe some do care about state-of-the-art new boobs – but for me the novelty is wearing off. Like anything new really…except for iphones which I affectionately call icrack, sooo addictive. I grew up in a time where mass consumerism was just starting to take off. I remember the first mini malls that popped up in Calgary in the 80s, lots of $$$ floating around. There were no outdoor outlet malls (btw, stupid idea in Canada, it’s f*ing cold in this country – hello, you’d make so much more $$ if you stopped making those stupid malls!…hence indoor please and thank you) or Costco where you go in for milk and leave with a $400 bill. Anyway, things get old quickly and we’re always looking for the next best thing to soothe the monotony, and filling our house and walk-in closets so they’re bursting at the seams. Acquisition of goods = the want for more, more, more… I don’t think it’ll ever be enough, we’re all f*cked. OMG how did new boobs turn into a paragraph on retail therapy? (I blame this on the poison!).
So I went in to the plastic surgeons office to get ‘my tires filled’ in February. I didn’t know it then but this would be the last time before my surgery next week. I could have gone one more time but I decided not to because it was painful, unlike the other times in between. Over the last 14 months, I went about 5-7 times in total, I don’t remember every appointment. So, I went into the doctor’s assistant’s office (which I had never been before) and there was a bookshelf of implants. I already knew the type I wanted (gummy bears) so I only had to choose size. I felt like I had been transported into a private showing at Tiffany’s in New York City or to the secret room full of jewels at Buckingham Palace – so surreal – the implants to me were like treasures only few had access to touch, admire and choose. I was instructed to pick the size I wanted in which the surgeon will bring into the operating room, along with a size smaller and larger. You’re not guaranteed your choice, they have to open you up to see best fit… wild, eh? It depends on damage from radiation (scar tissue), how well your skin and muscles expanded from the temporary fills and more factors. It’s possible I’ll have smaller or larger than what I’ve selected. My radiation oncologist suggested I go with small. Great. Perfect. I prefer JLo/Pink boobs to let say Pamela Anderson – no offense to her, it’s just my preference.