For Foobs’ Sake

I rushed out of the office, my friend Tina trailing behind me with my laptop bag. My goal was my car at the back of the parking lot, so that I could puke in the bushes behind it. “Just puke in the garbage can if you can’t make it, Trish.” That’s all I needed, was to hurl in the can beside the smoker’s knoll, in front of a row of my co-workers windows. Not the lasting image I wanted to leave behind at Bose. I made it to my car, just in time.

Mildly horrified, I agreed, and squeezed my eyes shut while trying to find my happy place. The surgeon began the procedure, first draining the implant and then removing it, all through the small hole in my skin. While I could see nothing, the sounds and sensations were vivid, making my stomach churn. I began to crack jokes and call my top-rated surgeon by his first name, “Bernie”. I think I was in shock.

“Nothing’s happening here,” he said, trying to relax me. “Nothing to see, just a routine procedure. Like getting a tooth pulled.” Mmmm, now that’s relaxing.

“You’re lying” I replied, thankful that he’d kicked Lee out of the office. While I didn’t think Lee would be squemish, he had photographed my spleen during my C-Section a few years ago and offered to share it with me – this surely would have made YouTube.

Less than an hour after I’d entered the office I was leaving it again, a prescription for more antibiotics and pain killers in one hand, a rack of stale saltines in the other to combat my quesiness. I was going home and would be able to recuperate in the comfort of my own bed, thanks to Bernie’s in-office procedure.

As I finally crawled into bed that night, it occurred to me that the thing I dreaded most about the loss of my breasts – looking down and seeing nothing – had come to pass. Even though I’ve experienced it once, the sight of a removed breast is emotionally gruelling. You’d think I’d be used to it, but ever since surgery I’ve had expanders in, and had been receiving “pump ups” on both sides. I had been filled to a nice perky C, and had enjoyed a summer of bikinis and sundresses, regaining some of my confidence and trying to put the year behind me. The lopsided affect of my chest magnified what was no longer there, and I experienced the loss all over again.

The next day, my girlfriend Elissa took me shopping for falsies to prepare me for the public. Stuffing my bra – yet another new experience. I ended up with a silicone product that looks remarkably like a chicken cutlet – which is exactly what we called it. I tried stuffing it in the left cup of my bra, but found I needed two stacked on top of each other to be even with my perky C on the right, and it was all tumbling out of the cute but impractical bra. It wasn’t the best solution, so I moved onto the wireless Genie Bra (as seen on TV!), that allowed me to comfortably pad my left side and hide my chicken cutlets. I also purchased a pair of “swimmies”, should I have the cajones to brave the beach in a bathsuit again this year, which I highly doubt.

I spent the following two weeks at home on medical leave, doing my best to rest, and following Doctor’s orders directly. I’m not interested in getting another infection, and risking my reconstructive surgery, which has now been pushed back to November. Since it began, this whole crazy process has had a finish line, and for me that’s having nice new boobies. If the infection worsens, surgery will be in jeopardy. Eight weeks to get better and stay healthy. I could live in a bubble, and have seriously considered it… but in the meantime I have a little girl to  spend my days with, which is hard to do from inside a hermetically sealed bubble. We spent this past weekend at the beach and enjoyed every second of sand, sea, and salt air. And we both wore our swimmies…