I could feel the tears coming on. I tried to fight the urge to sob, because I was in the middle of the metro during rush hour. This is no place to have a water works show. But I was reading Why I Wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy, and it just hit me as hard and fast as the trains breezing past me on the platform. While doctors won’t be cutting off my boobs, they’re cutting them out. I’ll wake up from surgery with two large wounds where my rack used to be. What will it be like to wake up from surgery and look down to see them gone? Within weeks I’ll have them back. But they’ll never be quite the same. The thought of saying goodbye to my girls, especially in those last moments, is all too painful sometimes. The thought of all those scapels is even more painful.

When my cousin picked me up at the metro, the floodgate broke loose. Once in the car, I started sobbing so uncontrollably it was hard to catch my breath. “Maybe you need more time to think about all of this?” Mary finally asked me. I think that’s it though. I finally am thinking about it. The magnitude of my decision just caught me a little off-guard around page 52 of my book while riding the red line train to Shady Grove.

I mean, I’ve had one wisdom tooth removed, and that was the only time I’ve ever been under anesthesia. The first time I had my blood drawn was for the genetic test! In high school, I used to cry so hard after a flu shot that it made the nurses uncomfortable. “You’re my first patient to cry today,” said the pediatric nurse, who had just seen a whole slew of toddlers. Needles of any kind have never been my friend, let alone scapels. How can I be brave enough to have a total mastectomy?!

Then I kept thinking some more. I want the doctors to also remove my nipples because they carry a high risk of breast cancer just like my breast tissue. But what will be come of my nipples? Will the hospital just throw them away? I don’t want to keep them, because I can’t imagine anything more creepy, but I also can’t imagine them in the trash. Where will my old breasts go?

There will also be tubes stitched to my chest to collect fluid for a few days after my surgery. It’ll hurt to breathe. It’ll even hurt if someone sits on the bed. I’ll probably need a bed pan, because I can’t imagine scuffling anywhere, not even to a nearby restroom. While all of this amounts to nothing compared to battling breast cancer, it still scares me to think of the surgical details. Is there anyway I can teleport myself to the last reconstructive surgery when all of the pain, blood and “wound fluid” will be behind me?

Since my boobs are always on my mind, I’m noticing the little things that will change or won’t matter once I have the surgery. For one thing, I’ve always worn skin-tight sports bras when I run. In middle school, someone told me that if your boobs bounce around too much during exercise then they’ll sag like an old woman’s rack. I did not, by any means, want saggy boobs by the age of 30. So I thought I’d plan for the future and cut off a little circulation in order to keep my girls perky. I guess I can loosen up on that one now.

Ever night before bed, I religiously take three delicious gummy bear vitamins, a nasty-tasting iron supplement, and my vitamin D-3. I keep all three lined up in my medicine cabinet like artillery. After all, I’m fighting to keep my health. Vitamin D-3 is the one I never forget, because it’s known to promote breast health (among many, many other things). This is one of my new power tools. With each white supplement I take every night, I envision it arming my breast cells with the defense they needs to ward off the cancerous enemy. And my maximum strength vitamin D-3 is my body armor. But since I won’t have my old breasts for much longer, I guess I can chuck the armor out the window pretty soon.

I also find myself starring at women’s breasts a lot. Totally weird, I know! But I just can’t help it. My breasts won’t have quite the natural curve like other women’s breasts. AlloDerm will help a lot. But there will still be a difference, one that only I will probably notice. In the meantime, I’ve taken to studying the boobs I see on the bus, on the metro, in the bars, at the restaurants, and even in church. I look at small breasts, large breasts, medium-size breasts. Everywhere I notice what I will soon no longer have.

After my surgeries, my boobs will look better than they do now. But I also love my current breasts. I’m trying to pay them tribute the best I can until the scapel comes to take them away. I’ll still wear a bra to work, but I’ve decided to retire my bra to the dresser for most other occasions. I want to feel my breasts and my nipples against my shirt, I want to know that they’re there. After all, I won’t have sensation anymore after the surgery. Luckily, I’m only a C-cup, so they’re pretty manageable on their own. Although, my sincere apologies to my friends and family, you may see more than you want over the next few months. It’ll probably only get worse after my mastectomy. I plan on flashing all the women in my life, so they can see what a mastectomy looks like. You can’t say I didn’t warn you!

I also think it’s a sign that you’re talking too much about your mastectomy when your roommate dreams that she looses her nipples and has to get them reconstructed. Rachel said they looked great, but I think I need to ease up on the boob conversation at my house. I also need to spare every poor, unsuspecting stranger the news of my upcoming mastectomy. The man swipping my membership card at the gym looked a little shell-shocked. So did the cabbie. I need to practice better censuring, so I’ll try to limit most of my boob ramblings to this blog. Although, Rachel, I was relieved to hear that your new nipples in your dream looked great. But you have better things to dream about than breast reconstruction, my sincere apologies!

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