One Month

One month from today...exactly. One month, and I will once again find myself under anesthetic and a knife, under observation and on narcotics. Once again, I face surgery. The difference is that for the first time, instead of taking something away, it will be about adding something. For the first time since this all began, I will be receiving instead of losing. Stage 1 of breast reconstruction. I'm not sure if it's really hit me yet. It's such a big thing! When I first came home wearing my mastectomy bra with its glorious C-cup prosthesis, I was on a cloud. Now, I am ready for a more permanent solution. I am ready to be able to wear things without having to worry about hiding my mastectomy bra. Spaghetti straps, bathing suits, plunging necklines...these will be mine again. Even better will be having perfect breasts that will remain so until I die.

I know it might seem hypocritical for a self-proclaimed feminist to be saying such things. However, until you've lost body parts, you have no idea. Am I opting for bigger than my original size? Hell, yes! Does that make me any less of a feminist? No! I was an A cup. So what? I had just become comfortable with my body type when this disease decided to turn my world upside down. I was trying to attend college with a newborn baby. This was difficult in itself. Then, breast cancer??? I won't lie. I thought long and hard about whether going up a cup or two would betray my feminist ideals. I wondered if I was doing it for me, or patriarchy. In the end I've decided this: Fuck it. I lived most of my life as an A cup, experimented with a C cup with my prosthetic breasts, and I've decided that as the expansion progresses, I will stop at the size that makes me most comfortable with my appearance. If it's bigger than my natural size, so be it. I'm not here to impress anybody. This time I get to do what's best for me, and I owe no one any apologies for it.