It’s official. I’m all “filled up.” Or at least as full as I can get. I’ve had 800 cc each of saline injected into my expanders and 800 is the largest size implant legally sold in the U.S. Before y’all freak (the largest?! WTF?!) Remember I was starting with NOTHING. Complete flatness. Less than even what a man has-a man with no pecs. My daughter told me I didn’t have to expand them as large as I am, and I thought about that. She’s right. I could’ve stopped at a B cup and called it a day. My reasoning was twofold. First, I’m a fuller figured girl. I want symmetry with my hips. Second, I do feel like after all I’ve been through, I deserve to look the way I want to look. I was a small C cup before cancer, and I will probably end up with a full C/small D so it’s not like I’m becoming Dolly Parton. My surgery is set for November 8 so goodbye coconuts, it’s been fun but you’re so outa here. My breast quest is almost over except for my 3D tattoo nipples which are a few months down the road.
I had my last fill on Monday. On Tuesday I went to work and by 3 pm I was slowly melting down. I was hurting so bad. I think knowing that the end of this painfest was within reach kind of gave my this bittersweet weepiness. I have not really cried all that much over the last year and a half. I cried after I got my diagnosis, and when I had to tell anyone I had cancer, and also a few times at night when I would beg God not to take me from my little girl. But really I was so busy kicking ass and taking names, I didn’t really feel like crying all that often. Tuesday it all came to a head and I had to leave work early. I felt a bit like I was wimping out and having a pity party. I thought about how strong I’ve been up until now. But maybe that’s why the tears came when they did. Maybe I kept shoving them down until the dam broke. Maybe being in pain 24/7 just pushed me over the edge. Maybe I needed all my physical and mental strength to fight and crying had to take a back seat. For most of my adult life, when I would feel a crying jag coming on, I had a little trick to stop it. Especially if I’m doing the choke-sob ugly cry face. I would say to myself “there’s no crying in baseball!” And then I would cry-laugh like a giggling psychopath.
(Side note: your life is not complete if you don’t know who said that and in which movie-okay hint):
I laugh when I feel like laughing so it stands to reason I need to allow myself to cry when I feel like crying.
Since it’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month I’m going to ask that everyone who reads my blog tell at least two people something about breast cancer they learned from any of my posts. For a disease that affects 1 in 8 women or 12%, we need to spread the word about all aspects of breast cancer, including the reconstruction process.