Full disclosure, I wrote the following post during a “poor baby day”. My mom would use that term when I was having a terrible day and feeling sorry for myself. Everyone has one of those days when you drown in your sorrows and wallow in self pity. But the deal my mom always made was that you only got one day, after that, you had to pick yourself up and keep on keeping on. So during my first poor baby day since finding out I am BRCA1 positive I decided to write this post, which I have titled I Hate Boobs. Enjoy.
Boobs are the bane of my existence. I hate them. The main reason I hate them so much is because they killed my mother and several other fabulous women in my life. Obviously I know that boobs did not actually kill these women. But in the case of my mom, the cells inside her boobs decided to go haywire and spread cancer all over her body. So, when I think about boobs in this way, I feel like maybe my mom would still be here if it weren’t for her boobs.
I have also always hated boobs because, well, I don’t have any. I understand the grass is greener on the other side, but for a petite girl not to be able to fill out a t-shirt or a bathing suit growing up was not fun. I remember people in high school saying, “Sarah, turn sideways to do your disappearing act” or “Sarah, turn sideways and stick your tongue out . . . now you’re a zipper!” People had jokes. I used to tell my mother she robbed me of two things, height and boobs. When I was a sophomore in college I decided to look into getting a boob job. I researched surgeons and the type of implants, I even went to one consultation. Ultimately, I decided not go through with plastic surgery. One, I wasn’t comfortable with changing something on my body that might hinder my surveillance, even though the doctors assured me it would not be an issue. Because of the history of breast cancer in my family I did not want something being missed down the road. Two, I just decided not to change the way God made me. Who cared if I didn’t have big boobs, I was healthy, in good shape and had a nice body everywhere else. So after that poor baby day in college, I decided to move on from that idea.
So, I have mentioned I hate boobs, right? And here I am AGAIN having to deal with them. I am BRCA1 positive and have decided to have a prophylactic double mastectomy. I always knew I would have a larger target on my back because of my family history. My mother is one of four women, on her side of my family alone, to have been diagnosed with breast cancer. But knowing that didn’t make this any easier. I’m tired of giving this disease my time and energy. I’m tired of having to make all of these decisions about my health because of this disease. I’m so tired of losing people I love because of their boobs. This is my poor baby day, time to pick myself back up, and keep on keeping on.
