My wingman and I went out on a date last night. In honour of
Breast Cancer Awareness Month Year we attended a Breast Reconstruction
Information Seminar that was being held downtown. It was a jolly event. There
were lots of interesting displays (fake boobs) refreshments (non-alcoholic) and
many delicious treats (sugary and fattening).
There was also a whole lot of laughter, which seems to be
standard fare for these cancer-y get together's where a whole bunch of woman in
one room are determined to plough ahead, no matter what kind of crazy obstacles
try to stand in the way. Everybody
travelled in small packs, either with girlfriends, or husbands, who took it all
in stride.
From the outside, all the entire audience looked healthy.
There were a few baldies but they were dressed for an evening out with earrings
and make-up and looked very stylish.
There were lots of short haircuts, and lot of long ones and as for the
inevitable ladies in wigs -
nothing stood out. Also, all the ladies had two boobs – or more specifically –
two breast mounds under their shirt. It was revealed later that there was all
sorts of stuff going on under their bras that had nothing to do with Mother
Nature.
Later, we (chicks only) would go into another room for a
‘show and tell’ where woman who had had reconstruction would share their
stories. These women were easily identifiable by their tiaras, long silk scarves,
and the fact they were topless. They were available for questions, and also the
chance to cop a feel, or as we used to say back in grade seven, ‘get to first
base’.
‘Touch them!’ one young woman said to me. I warned her that
my hands were cold. ‘No problem’ she laughed in her breezy Spanish accent, ‘I
have no sensitivity!’ So I did, and she cheerfully told me that they felt
natural because the surgeon had used fat from her stomach to replace the fat in
her breasts. No breast tissue, no chance of breast cancer! And a tummy tuck thrown in for good
measure.
All the ladies had different stories, and all of them glowed
with success. The recurring theme through the night was rebuilding, moving
forward, and gaining confidence. Or, as one of the reconstructive surgeons said
in her speech, ‘We just want to give you boobs that make you so friggn’ happy……'
 |
| Sistas! |
And in a quest to ‘return to normal-ish’ that often requires
a set of boobs that are the same. Or not! As I have briefly mentioned, mine are a bit of a mess – and trust me when I say that as a woman
who has never given birth– mine were pretty prefect.
But according to another speaker, a renowned micro-surgeon (with 157 years of education under his belt) said no set of boobs is ever supposed to be perfect. ‘They’re not twins,’ he said, ‘They’re sisters.’
The entire audience giggled, then breathed a sigh of relief.
Of course we don’t have to make them exactly the same. They are sistas!
And though
not always perfect, a sista is the always the very best of friends.
