Henny Penny’s Got Nothing on Me

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I guess it’s a friend who’s “girls” give us eggs every year that brings to mind a little red hen running in circles, kicking up puffs of dust, as I look at my own girls today. The sky hasn’t fallen, but my left boob certainly has.

Maybe you can kinda see the lowerage of the left breast. The ace wrap between them is certainly evident. This "process" is NOT fun.

Maybe you can kinda see the lowerage of the left breast. The ace wrap between them is certainly evident. This “process” is NOT fun.

I wouldn’t say it’s quite an inch lower than the right, or that the world’s going to end, but I could be convinced.

In medical parlance, the lowerage is maybe a centimeter and a half. Or two. Almost an inch.

The spouse, who has eyed the “new” boobs waay more frequently than the old ones, actually agrees. And my dear friend Peggy who has walked me through the whole process, kindly says “well, maybe the one IS a bit bigger than the other.”

I don’t think it’s bigger, it’s just lower. So (feeling like the world’s worst patient yet again), I call the doc’s office. There’s not a nurse around, but one of the other lovely ladies says, “We want them to relax into their pockets. Does it feel like that’s what’s happening?”

Relax into their pockets? Gloriosky! Whoda thought? And why wasn’t this mentioned before? And why isn’t the right one doing the same thing? Or is it only a matter of time?

The next thing she says is, “Let’s have you come in (like TOMORROW) to make sure nothing odd is going on.” Nothing odd? This is odd in my book. The sky falling is odd too, but I doubt that’s what’s happening. The next thing she says is, “We don’t want the other side to be retracting and pulling up.” OK, the sky IS falling.

“Pulling up” is exactly what the right side feels like it’s doing. The one’s going down (and feels kinda nice), the other’s pulling up, and doesn’t.

So I’ve got specially constructed evening wear (see pic). It consists of a bra I’ve worn for weeks now, a roll of ace wrap in the middle that keeps the implants from cutting into the muscles attached to my sternum, and a pain patch on my skin that maybe works, maybe doesn’t.

This all because of a questionable condition called thoracic outlet syndrome on the right side. Which means the muscles there are overdeveloped, the nerves are compressed, and everything hurts. On that side only. Unless a miracle happens and the implant “falls into its pocket”. Like tomorrow.

I don’t care if my extremely patient doctor thinks I’m a nut when the miracle happens and he sees two perfectly level boobs at my appointment. Just my luck. He’s probably got that little bubble level app on his iPhone to check things out. Or something from his garage. Like the stud finder mentioned in a previous post.

I’ll let y’all know what happens. Henny Penny, too. Maybe she can stop her frantic circling and I can get some rest.

4 responses »

  1. I’m struck by how much we — as girls… then women — have to pay attention to our breasts throughout our lifetimes. These odd, evolutionary, life-giving body parts that seem to be ever on the attention of… well, everyone.

    When we’re 12 and they’re coming (or not coming) in, they’re a revelation. I personally found their appearance dreadful at the time, as they made running so much harder and I was always running! Then we’re in our teens and suddenly they’re the keys to the kingdom (or not, if they’re… not). From there and onward their currency remains front and center – personally, sexually, anatomically and culturally – and that continues into our mid-life years… until, beyond the sagging, they can suddenly become the focus of health (or not).

    And then the themes shift and change and you are left to sort out the mixed emotions, the physical and emotional challenges, the pain and anger, the PROCESS of reclaiming health with or without them and, then, on top of all that, there’s slippage??

    We are women, hear us roar, indeed.

    Your literary roars are both illuminating and touching, primers on the process but also an honest look into the vulnerabilities and realities that emerge and have to be dealt with, like it or not. Your words are a tonic for others going through similar circumstances.

    And OF COURSE you want your boobs to be even, dammit. I second your other commenter’s motion: the “girls” will be walking side-by-side in no time!

    • Ahh, thank you, Lorraine.
      As ever, you get it.

      The next part of the story is a little different, tho’ I just haven’t had time or energy enough to write it–

      Was a good thing the surgeon’s staff insisted I be seen, as by the time I got there the oddity noticed the night before had turned into an honest to gosh emergency ( bleeding into the cavity around the implant), which was ultimately resolved with surgery.

      Anyhoo, a new implant later& a couple quarts low, I’m back home. Weak and shaky, but gratefully alive.

      And awfully glad to hear from you.

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