Coming up on my one year of survivorship, I was starting to feel anxious again. Not about recurrence, not yet, I fear that in 3 years, 5 years, 10 years, but not now. However, I was feeling anxious about my breasts in general. I have not worn a normal bra since my diagnosis. Almost, two years. First, the biopsy site was too hard and angry, making wearing a bra so uncomfortable that I started trying out sports bras. Even those were uncomfortable. I finally gave up and starting going without a bra. Extra dense breasts even at my size were somewhat perky and when I wore two tank tops together under my shirts, most people could not tell I was going without a bra.
After my surgeries and radiation, even though I am numb, I am still hypersensitive on my right breast. Go figure that one. Most of my right breast is still numb, I can feel pressure, but I do not feel touch. There is a small area outside the areola where I can feel touch, but that quickly tapers into the area of no sensation. Despite all this numbness, I have the hypersensitivity. Pressure on my breast after a few hours starts to irritate, and if the pressure continues, it starts a throbbing ache. There is so much scar tissue on the bottom side of my breast; there is no sensation there at all. Yet, even the slightly reinforced bands of my lycra/spandex tanks cause me discomfort and I look forward to the end of the day when I can take my tank off as the feelings of discomfort are starting to get intense and relief is all I can think about when I get home.
Because of this and my emotional turmoil about how my breasts look now, I have avoided taking that next step of actually being measured and fitted for a bra. I am still not sure how I feel about my breasts. With one mostly numb, I feel a great disconnection from my right breast. It sags more than my left breast. Due to just enough blood flow to keep my nipple alive, my nipple is no longer a dusky pink, it is closer to a pale greenish tinge of my normal skin color. As for my left breast, there is still the divot where my incisions intersect. No breast tissue there, if you feel it, you go straight down to the chest wall. This divot makes a W shape on the bottom of my breast. There is also a weird, not quite a divot, but lack of fullness on the left side of my breast before the areola. My breast slightly slopes inward and then puffs out right at the edge of my areola. Every time I think about it, I get frustrated and angry. How can a plastic surgeon take a perfectly normal breast with plenty of tissue to work with screw up the reduction that creates these stupid imperfections that a person already dealing with body issues because of the cancer, now has to deal with these too, on her good boob.
Therefore, I have avoided finding out what size bra I wear now. I have avoided going through that stress of having to acknowledge the imperfections, that my left breast is larger than my right breast. Before all this is was just slightly larger. Now, it is visibly larger. In addition, I really was not sure how being fitted for a smaller bra size would leave me feeling, on top of all the other emotional issues I have tied up with the “girls” now.
Jordon and Kelly are getting married soon. That means I need to find a dress. Finding a nice dress to wear, I felt like I could not wear a spandex/lycra tank top to hold my breasts in place and provide the support I really need to keep from becoming completely uncomfortable. Hence, my anxiety about my breasts and what was I going to do with them for the wedding. I am the mother of the groom. I could not go braless (as that is painful as well), and wearing tank top bras under a nice dress just does not feel right. I knew this day would eventually come where I had to face taking the next step in survivorship. I had to breakdown and deal with getting a bra.
I chose this weekend to do it. My cousin/sister would be here. She would hold me if the emotions became too much. She would help me celebrate making this next step. Moreover, the bridal shower for Kelly was this weekend, and I wanted to test the waters of taking that next step using her shower as my debut.
I thought I was ready. I was nonchalant about my decision. I was ready for this next step. Deda was here, we made a morning of errands to do before we got ready for the bridal shower. We stopped for eyebrow threading, went to the nail salon, manicure for me, pedicure for Deda. Then we had to stop back at home because I dumped my coffee in my lap. I just could not face Nordstrom with a coffee stain across my crotch and down my legs. (I did not want to admit it at the time, but the closer we got to going into Nordstrom the jitterier I was feeling.) After I changed my pants, we headed to the store. We went up to the floor with women’s wear and lingerie. I checked in at the register with an explanation to the sales woman there of what I needed and why. She advised that they had a specialist there specifically for my needs and she would call her.
Deda and I took a seat on the chairs provided for those waiting and I started shaking. I could feel the tears trying to form behind my eyes. Deda told me I could do this. Mishel came over and introduced herself. She started asking questions about my surgery, how I felt, etc. Those tears started to migrate from the back to the front if my eyes, and I could feel my dragon start to unfurl, ready to take flight through my midsection to protect my heart. Mishel told me she deals with this all the time. Nordstrom is a store that has a specific program for woman who have had mastectomies, lumpectomies and reconstructive surgeries and how to fit them along with helping with insurance covered prosthesis fittings and claims.
Mishel took me back to the fitting room and started with a primary measure. The band size, which may have changed, and just by looking at me and getting my input on what hurts and why and she looked at my extensive scarring in little miss righty she figured out my sizing. She left the room and I sat there on the verge of tears. I texted Deda, asking her to come sit with me, while I awaited the return of Mishel. She quickly came back to the dressing rooms and knocked softly on the door. I let Deda in and the tears had their way with me. Deda held me as I cried. I cried my fear out, my anxiety of my body image, my fear of the future, my fear of not fitting into a pretty bra anymore, my fear that it would be too painful. My fear that I will always feel deformed and detached from my breasts.
She held me while all this came out silently. She let me shed all this out on her shoulder. I was back in control somewhat. I still felt like I was shaking, but my dragon was curled back into her ball, ready to spring when I needed her, but no longer expanding her wings around my heart. Deda and I sat on the bench in the room, talking about my boobs. I showed her how they look now, over a year after the last surgery. I had her feel my divot, and look at the weird shape on the left side before it puffs back out at the edge of the areola. She looked at me in the mirror catching my eyes and reminded me all these little imperfections could be fixed.
Mishel came back in, and I introduced Deda, my sister, to Mishel. She had no problem with my emotional support being there with us. She brought with her a selection of bras in two different sizes. She did not give me a chance to look at the sizes. She pulled the first one off the hanger and had me face away from her while she tried the band around me. Nope, I needed the next size up. She told me to just drop it on the floor. I could not do that. I hate finding clothes on the floor of dressing rooms. How could I be so disrespectful to drop a new bra on the floor that some else will someday try on. Deda finally took the bra that didn’t fit band wise. Evidently, I am between band sizes now. Back to a 38” band. Next bra was pulled off the hanger and once again, I was told to face away from her while she fastened the band. She told me how to pull all my breast tissue into the cups. She adjusted straps and made sure the “darts” lined up between my breasts and laid flat against my chest. She showed me how to pull the straps to get my breasts to settle into the cups. As she adjusted the strap length again, we could see the difference in breast sizes by how much overflow I had on the left cup. She re-adjusted that strap to allow more tissue to settle into the cup. Only once she was done and felt I was firmly settled correctly into the bra cups would she let me see how I looked in the mirror.
There I was, feeling like a scared little girl, staring at myself in the mirror, wearing a bra for the first time in almost two years. I saw myself, my fat, my fear, my strength, my determination. I saw a survivor, a woman, a girl, a warrior. I saw me taking yet another step in healing. A step I had not realized until I actually faced it that I needed to take. Pieces started falling back into place that I had not realized were not where they needed to be. I was feeling closer to whole. As all this ran through my brain, as my heart shifted a bit and my soul settled, Mishel was asking me how it felt. Was there any pinching, aching, pain? Deda was giving me a look that told me she was wondering how I felt as well as being proud of me facing this next step.
The bra was soft; it helped shape my breasts into something that looked more normal to me. The pressure was no more than my tank bras or my cotton weekend bras that have no shaping or real support, just kind of hold the girls in place a little better than wearing nothing. I realized I could do this; I could wear a bra again. Mishel asked if I wanted to wear the bra out of the store. Yes, yes I would. She yanked off the tags. Then she asked me if I wanted to try another one. I was eyeing a nude lace bra. I wanted to feel pretty. The pink one I was wearing was pretty, but not as lacy and pretty as the nude one. Mishel went out to get that one in my size, and was back quickly.
Same as before, I stood with my back to her as she fastened the bra band, adjusted straps and again guided me through settling all my breast tissue into the cups. She checked the darts and the sides, did some adjustments, advised me what to do to fully settle my breasts into this slightly differently shaped cup and I was ready to see myself in the mirror. I was perkier in this bra. Deda gave me the thumbs up. She said it was fantastic. The tits were back. She admitted to me that she was always jealous of my boobs, small, firm and perky, not needing to wear a bra. Even after 35 when my breasts started to grow again, as they do with age.
Mishel had me try my undershirt on over this new bra and I felt good. This one was a little tighter, and dug into places the other one did not, kind of made me itch, but I liked the way it made me feel overall. This was the bra I wanted to wear out of the store. Not a problem, Michele ripped the tags off and I put my shift back on before we went out to the register to pay for my two new bras. I wore the nude lace bra out of the store and for the remainder of the day. We went to the bridal shower and I showed my DIL to be, Kelly, that I had finally graduated to a regular bra. Another little step to moving forward. She seemed to understand this step showed genuine happiness for me.
I have gone from a 38E to 38D. I still have body image issues, but I think that will be a larger issue to tackle. Most of it is my weight, and losing weight is becoming a tougher nut to crack than I had hoped. I have not given up on that. I will keep trying.
The Bridal Shower was a wonderful event, and watching Kelly beam as she opened gifts and talked with her family and friends. I enjoy watching her laugh and be herself. I have discovered I have learned more about her than I thought I knew due to the games played. I learned even more about my soon to be daughter-in-law, and love her even more for it.
Life is healing one step at a time
