So I went to the doctor to pick out new breasts. At least I hope they’ll be breasts. Or like breasts. Breast-like will do in a pinch. The things my chest has been hosting are definitely not. And I’ve found some other blogs where women are talking frankly about their breast building “process” (note how I avoid the word “journey”). Damn, they’re brave. I’m just worried. Really, really worried. Some journeys take a lifetime.
Surgery is on 9/11. Anybody got a glass-half-full line for that one?
Ok, beat you to it. I still don’t have to do chemo. This is a very good thing.
So from the get-go I knew saline implants were out of the question. I’ve examined enough women who had those placed during the 90’s moratorium on silicone to know you CAN hear them slosh. And thank G-d silicone is supposed to be lighter, as these saline tissue expanders are heavier than I could have imagined. I’ve lost weight just lugging them around. I even chickened out and had them reduced.
What a world. They’ve got “gummy bear” implants now. Feel like candy, look like pears, but are textured like expanders and scare the heck out of me because they’ve got to be bigger than those are to prevent flippage. You know, that embarrassing condition when your breast turns upside down at dinner. Maybe while serving the spaghetti.
So, I’m gonna go with the old tried & true, half-round, slick model. These are meant to slip and slide and smoosh. Kinda like breasts. As a friend said, “my mind breathes a sigh of relief at the soft ones settling into the space that’s already there. Like real breasts after menopause.”
There is sense in that. It resonates. I can do resonate. I just can’t do journey. At least not the whole thing. At least not right now.