A Boudoir of Busty Betrayal

From Where to Wow and then WTF

For most of my life, I have had a strained relationship with my breasts.

But this year they really took it too far when they betrayed me in the worst way!

Let us start at the beginning…

I took ballet classes growing up, which meant tight leotards. It wasn’t the most flattering look for a kid that had a pretty big pot belly. But to be honest, I don’t recall being overly concerned about my rotundity. It wasn’t something that I dwelled on, and it didn’t curb my healthy appetite, even though my ballet dancing friends were all pretty slim.

As my age ticked over into double digits I had a fast growth spurt and lost that round tummy. I became quite slim during my high school years but I also became more body conscious.

I was a slow developer and like many others, high school physical education classes were to be dreaded. Not only was I bad at most sports, and usually picked last for any team, but the class also meant changing rooms and mean girls.

As other girls started to get bras, I still didn’t have any development up top. I was probably one of the last in my class to get a bra, and then I probably didn’t actually need one.

For most of my life, I really didn’t have any breasts to speak of. Bras were size A and swimsuits needed to have padding as exposed to cold water they shrank down to nothing.

Don’t get me wrong, there were some advantages. Clothes fit easy, there was no consideration that they would be tight in the bust. If an outfit didn’t work with a bra, there was no real need to wear one.

Somehow it all changed when I hit forty. I did put on some weight but my boobs also grew disproportionately. Suddenly I had a nice-looking pair of breasts that filled out clothes and were more like a size C.

Men started complimenting me on my breasts, and I was more confident to show them off. My breasts and I suddenly had a good relationship. They were so perky for my age I was told regularly. When they only grow in later life, they don’t have time to droop.

Earlier this year we hit a speed bump in our new happy relationship.

I was in the shower when I noticed that my right nipple was starting to turn inward. What on earth was going on? That was the start and then I noticed that the skin around the nipple also started to harden.

Off to the doctor for a check-up.

Friends assured me it might be mastitis or a blocked milk duct, but I was concerned. There was no pain. The doctor had a good feel around but said she couldn’t feel any lumps. She ordered an ultrasound and mammogram to find out what exactly was going on.

The mammogram went smoothly, but the specialist at the clinic wanted to redo the ultrasound. It didn’t seem a good sign. And next was the biopsy.

Although I was assured the biopsy would be pain-free due to the anesthetic, I nearly jumped off the table during the first flesh collection device firing. And then came two more! It was painful for the full week I had to wait for the results.

When the doctor did call, she needed to see me urgently, the next morning. Alarms were ringing pretty loud now, and of course, my worst fears were realized. It was ductal carcinoma, and estrogen positive, so the doctor took no time to whip out the contraception device I’d had in my arm for the last 5 years.

My breasts, so fabulous had they become, were now attempting to kill me. I thought it was a low and dirty trick.

After a barrage of bone density, PTP, and cat scan tests, a month later I found myself at the oncologist’s office being prescribed 8 rounds of chemotherapy. I’m now 7 sessions into this masochistic process designed to poison the body as well as the cancer cells. It hasn’t been much fun.

After meeting with the breast surgeon, I also discovered that the only option for me is to have a full mastectomy on the right side.

Bye, bye, perfect breasts. You were only with me a short time and it’s soon to be all over for us.

Of course, there is the possibility of reconstruction. People joked with me when I was first diagnosed that this would be my opportunity to get fantastic-looking implants. To be honest I wasn’t too sure I would be comfortable with having unnatural objects placed into my body.

But as it happens reconstruction won’t be that easy. It’s possible but requires either a stomach or derriere skin graft. Plus it doesn’t sound like the surgeon recommends it. It just makes the surgery longer and more difficult and could result in more post-surgery complications.

I think while we are there that I’ll get him to remove both breasts. I don’t want to worry about cancer returning in the left one a few years from now. I will only be lopsided with one anyhow.

So there we are. After living without boobs for many a year, and then being spoilt by their magnificence, our relationship will be prematurely severed.

I knew they were too good to be true …

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