Yes, they’re fake.

If you currently have the boobs you were born with, and aren’t worried about losing them – this post ISN’T for you. 

This is for the gal searching hashtags like #mastectomy, #reconstruction and #breastcancer.  The one who found out she needs to start removing things to survive.

If that’s you, keep reading – ‘cause I’ve been you. The rest of you can keep scrolling.

First – you should know that when I was told I had cancer ten years ago, removing my breasts was the easiest choice I made (during a VERY bizarro week, with lots of decisions).  In fact, I was prepared to remove anything cancer could touch.  “Gut me like a fish”, I said. And they did.

The difficult part was the mental anguish, prompted by morbid online searches. 

My phase one ‘Googling’ involved words like ‘odds’, ‘death’, ‘survival’ – and it sent me to some dark, dark places.

When that wasn’t helping, I pivoted to things like ‘Celebrity Mastectomy’ and ’90-year-old cancer survivors’. This was a much happier exercise.

I like to think phase two was a sign of optimism.  Did I want to see what it/they looked like? Or, just that their lives went on? Likely, a little bit of both.

The idea that there were women who fought cancer, had a few breasts removed, maybe did a chemo stint, then went on with living – really did provide some much-needed relief.

I found comfort in knowing that I’d watched films with Christina Applegate and never noticed anything ‘unusual’ about her appearance.  Shirley Temple? She lived to 85 after her mastectomy!  Not too shabby.

Edie Falco hiding her diagnosis and treatment from the cast of Sopranos – was one of my favourite reads.  My cancer was a secret too.  It was the only piece of control I had left at a time filled with chaos. Learning that Edie/Carmela and I had this in common, made me feel a little less crazy.

So, here I am – (yeah, it’s been ten years, but better late than never?) – to add myself to the (non-celebrity) list, and tell you that yes, my boobs are fake. 

My real ones tried to kill me.

Losing those assholes didn’t change anything in my life, and looking back, was one of the least awful parts of my so-called ‘journey’.

Thanks to the skilled hands of some incredible surgeons, the process was absolutely manageable AND my scars are hardly noticeable. Except for my chemo port – which is a bit of a piss-off.

Wish I could remember the name of the nurse who wheeled me in on port day. Her last words were “Tell him to cut near your bra line.  If you don’t say anything, you’ll have it sitting near your neck!”. 

Evidently the surgeon didn’t think my ‘put it low so I can still wear a tube top’ joke was funny.   I had only one breast at the time and thought the remark was killer.  Guess not!

While my one-boob-tube-top-summer never happened, the scar is definitely low and out of site. I will be forever grateful for that nurse – and you will too, if a port is part of your future.

So yeah, I’m you. Just 10 years later, and still here to talk about it.

Ten more years to hold my family close, do some great work in my community, love the people I adore and irritate the heck out of my children with my kitchen dance moves. It doesn’t get any better than that.

So, if yours are trying to kill you too – don’t over think it.  Just get rid of them.  Trust me, removing them won’t be worse than hearing you have cancer.  THAT’s the worst.  Plus – replacing them with perky new ones is a definite life-long bonus.

Do everything you can to stick around, would ya?

And if you have questions, or just need support – message me.  I’d love to help.

#BreastCancerMonth #Yestheyarefake #KeepDancing