Boobaversary

I can’t start this week’s essay without first taking a moment to acknowledge and remember the lives lost and the collective grief experienced 25 years ago today. Of course, the loss of life didn’t stop on 9/11. The ripple effects from site exposure and weaponized ideology would be felt in the years to follow. 9/11 marked a flashpoint, a before and after for society.

While there is no denying the tragedy of that fateful morning, I find myself longing for the unity that followed. Is there a way to achieve one without the other? Would that kind of unity even be possible today? I don’t know. And it is chilling to be so uncertain.

I don’t want to sit in that “what if” headspace for too long, though. We are inundated with enough difficult, frustrating and often confusing information. My goal with these blogs is and has always been to relay my perspective on life’s experiences with honesty and a touch of levity. It’s ok to laugh even when life is hard. In fact, that is when we need to laugh the most.

So, with that, I bring you the celebration of my boobaversary - or the one-year anniversary of my final breast reconstruction surgery post cancer.

One year with these new boobs. And while I’m very thankful the cancer was evicted from my body, I hate that not a day goes by when I’m not reminded it was ever there. You would think I would have learned by now that grief can never be put behind us - and experiencing cancer, losing my breasts, feeling as if my body had betrayed me, is all a form of grief.

The most constant reminder is, of course, these new boobs. Which, I have to admit, look pretty damn good (thank you, Dr. Pasick). Still, I have yet to feel comfortable with them. I am aware of them in a way I have rarely been conscious of any other body part outside of a rare injury. It really is a bizarre experience to have a body part removed and replaced.

Whether I’m catching my altered silhouette in the mirror as I get in and out of the shower, acknowledging the dulled sensation that remains, or feeling the edge of an implant under my skin – there is no denying that this body is different. What I will say is that getting the nipple tattoos helped immensely. At least when I look at my body now there is an illusion of normalcy. It may seem trivial, but it is those split-second glances that can tip a mood.

It’s not all bad, though. In the major win column, I no longer have to wear a bra if I don’t want to. Have you been wishing you could wear those fun front-tie shirts or had your eye on a backless dress but are worried about the girlies coming free? Just get a breast cancer diagnosis, mastectomy, and reconstruction, and you’ll be able to wear those cute clothes in a year or so… give or take if chemo or radiation is needed. Easy Peasy!

Aside from the new boobs, I am still seeing my oncologist quarterly and am taking Tamoxifen, a drug designed by the devil which blocks estrogen production. Side effects include raging hot flashes, clouded thinking, poor memory, inability to lose weight, volatile emotions – you know, basically perimenopause symptoms.

With the exception of the hot flashes, the rest are also side effects of grief, so I figured I could handle this medication like a pro.

I did not.

Cue the close-up of me sobbing on the kitchen floor because neither my body nor my brain was responding rationally to everyday situations. try to work out? I will still be sweating two hours later because my autonomic nervous system now adjusts at a glacial pace. Ran out of bagels? I should be nominated for worst mother ever and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Also, hot flashes are wildly misunderstood. They are so much more than just feeling excessively warm out of nowhere. My heart races, which kick starts my anxiety, and the spiral begins. Forget any conversation or task I might have been in the middle of. Is it the medicine? Am I going crazy? Is it actually hot in here? I don’t know because I can’t think about anything other than how fucking uncomfortable I am.

Interestingly, with all my keyed-up anxiety, at no point have I ever spent much time worrying about whether the cancer will come back. With 97% of my breast tissue gone, I feel pretty confident that they got it all. But also getting cancer in the first place felt pretty out of my control, so I’m not going to waste my limited energy worrying about a recurrence.

All in all, one year later I feel pretty good. As long as you don’t look too closely, I’ve got the best boobs of my life. They may not feel like mine… yet. But I trust the women who are decades ahead of me who say that eventually they do become a part of your body, a part of your sense of self.

Until then, I’ll celebrate how far I’ve come this past year.

Happy boobaversary to me.

ID: Kelly smiling at the camera, wearing a green front-tie shirt. She is sitting in a wooden chair in a restaurant.