It occurred to me that last Saturday was the one year anniversary of my bilateral mastectomy. In some ways it feels like it’s been way longer. I can barely even remember my boobs or what it felt like to have them (may they rest in peace). In a lot of ways it was not what I expected. I expected to be inconsolable. I expected to have debilitating depression. I expected to feel like a freak and get a prosthetic bra. But in truth, none of those things happened. Everyone has their own journey and mine took me to unexpected places. I did not expect to find such strength within myself or to be able to put a humorous spin on my experiences. I found unexpected love and support from people I didn’t know that well before cancer and I found avoidance from a few people I’ve known longer. Apparently talking about cancer and mastectomies makes some people twitchy. But that’s okay. There’s no roadmap for this stuff.
Here I am a year later at The Boob Whisperer on a weekly basis, in the process of reconstructing my boobs (gentleman we can rebuild them….). I recall Mastectomy Day clearly though, and waking up and wondering aloud through the morphine stupor, where might my boobs be now, and my husband writing that on my hospital room white board (he’s very literal). I’ve posted it before but it always cracks me up.