Category: Talking About Reconstruction

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Talking About Reconstruction

Build-A-Bear vs. Build-A-Boob

Which shop would you rather visit? Hear me out here folks….then I think I can hazard a guess as to what your answer would be. 

So, the Build-A-Bear shop. At first I thought I was mistaken as to whether there was such an establishment. I use our old friend, Google, to find out if I was imagining this ‘stuffing something and making a cute, cuddly thing’ experience and it appears I am not mistaken. There is actually a shop called ‘Build-A-Bear’. 

Have you taken a visit with your child or grandchild or perhaps the random kid you happened to be looking after that day, to keep them busy and entertained and to stop the constant whining of….’Can I watch Bear in the Big Blue House’ or ‘Why isn’t Playhouse Disney on?’ or ‘I don’t want to watch Loose Women, what about my programmes?’ or the phrase ‘I WANT ANDY’S DINO TOY BOX!’ on repeat at a high level of decibels. 

I find on Google that their slogan is this:

“Only at Build-A-Bear® can you experience the fun of making your own custom soft toys, plushies and teddy bears”. 

Ok, so firstly, what the hell are plushies? Can I call my chest area ‘plushies’? 

Well….I’m not interested in Build-A-Bear here, oh no no no, dear readers, I’m talking about a different kind of shop altogether….and it’s called Build-A-Boob. Build-A-Boob (in my own warped imagination so humour me here folks!) is the shop you go to when your ‘Norks’, your ‘Bodacious set of Tartars’, those ‘Juggling Balls’ need updating. Or in my case, just the one boob, the rogue tit that misbehaved and went and let Cancer in, just the one side that needed to be revamped, totally built from scratch. At least at Build-A-Bear you get the fur casing as a starting point, the warm and cuddly outer shell. At Build-A-Boob the shopping experience is a whole different ball game. Yes, it’s similar in that you get to stuff the outer casing (albeit not quite so furry unless you suffer from an abnormally hairy chest. Thankfully I don’t) but, you don’t end up with something warm, cuddly and full of heart and soul, it’s a bit cold and heartless, albeit an amazing creation, it has to be said. 

So, lovely peeps, come on into my, frankly quite weird, imagination…..let’s explore the differences between Build-A-Bear and Build-A-Boob, shall we?

Firstly though, I wonder what my Build-A-Boob slogan would be? How’s this for starters? 

Hmmmm….let’s make it a little bit more realistic shall we…..?

“Only at Build-A-Boob can you experience the pain of having your mammory removed, then making your own custom Tit, Plushy or Nork with an alien imposter”.

(Oh yes, I think I’m going to have lots of fun with this! 😉 Those who know me well know that lightheartedness and lots of laughter was the only way to be, in my opinion, when you’ve just gone through the truly shitty journey that is cancer).

Or…..

“Only at Build-A-Boob will you learn to sleep upright for days on end, sleeping like a pencil in one position, frightened to move an inch for fear of rolling on said newly formed and tender tit!”

Or…..

“Only at Build-A-Boob can you experience the frustration of leaving your drains behind, which are actually attached to your body under your armpit, when you get up in middle of the night for a wee because you’ve momentarily forgotten they were there!” (That was certainly an ‘Ouch’ moment, I can tell you).

“Only at Build-A-Boob can you experience the pulling muscle sensation when you lift the kettle forgetting that your newly built Tit, Plushy or Nork is trying to tell you to ‘Stop doing too bloody much woman!’”

(I really AM having fun with these made up slogans….!) 

“Only at Build-A-Boob can you experience the depressing realisation of seeing one boob stand to attention, and the other one head south a bit (gravity has taken hold!) whilst that ‘drooper’ states in a rather frustrated tone of voice, ‘I’m darned if I’m gonna stay like this, like a saggy ‘has-been’ for the rest of my existence!’”

I could go on but perhaps I ought to stop there! 

So, getting back to the differences between Build-A-Bear and Build-A-Boob.

At the stuffing a Teddy Bear variant, once you are done and your bear is stuffed, you can make the bear talk. You can choose a pre-recorded message that says something like, ‘I love you’ when you press it in the middle, on its tummy. You can choose a heart for it, kiss it and make a wish, before it then gets sewn up.

At my boob equivalent shop, when you press the middle of the boob, which incidentally has been cut open and ‘un-stuffed’ first, all the material taken away and replaced with silicone, it’s not the boob that says anything it’s me saying ‘ouch, that’s so bloody painful!’ So the boob itself doesn’t say a thing, quite obviously, unlike the programmed teddy bear. But IF the titty could talk I wonder what it would say? Possibly this……’I’m the best you got now girl!’ or ‘Appreciate me more would you as I’m only here because Cancer isn’t’. Hmmmmm….I take your point oh precious boob that’s just been created, is here to stay and is an indication that I am, in fact, alive. Instead, I shall begin thanking you for showing up.

Ok, so, now let’s look at the similarities between the two establishments, shall we?

The stuffing itself that is inserted in the Bear AND the Boob! Yes, they both have a filling but the type of filling in each is entirely different altogether. No need to elaborate any further on that one. 

You get a certificate with the Build-A-Bear showing its date of birth and similarly at my Build-A-Boob shop, you get a guarantee for yer tit/s from the date of creation….pretty much the same thing don’t you think? You get to name your bear and if you so desire, you can name your chest creation too. Although mine doesn’t have a name. Anyone fancy making suggestions?

Another similarity…..the fur or hair. The bear has fur. Ok, so the boob doesn’t have hair as such, only those little natural body hairs. Here I go….I feel I’m about to go off on one of my infamous tangents!

On the subject of the inevitable hair loss that comes with the kind of chemotherapy I was having. I lost all of my hair. And I mean ALL of it, everywhere. Even my nose would run because the hairs up my nose had gone AWOL! Who’d have thought.

And the little fluffy hairs we have on our face, they went too. I was told that one of the side effects of chemotherapy might mean my skin sheds or can flake off. Oh my gosh…I was horrified at the thought. Panicking at the thought of looking like a character from a horror movie. Only to notice that my skin had actually never looked better. It looked fresher, felt more supple, plumper (in a good way)….but why? They told me it could flake off. Ahhhhh I know why……I’d lost those little facial hairs. Of course it looked better. Think of a man’s chin when it is shaven versus not clean shaven. It looks clearer, appears cleaner. So of course my face could, and did, look fresher. 

So, I’d go so far as to say I preferred the way I looked when undergoing chemotreatment….figure that. Then when those little facial hairs came back, when the hair follicles kicked into action again, I noticed I needed more moisturiser on my face, it needed more hydration, it seemed more difficult to apply the foundation onto my face because those hairs got in the way. 

Don’t get me wrong I do not want to have to endure chemo again to have better looking skin, oh no thank you very much! Just merely an observation. It was an interesting discovery. 

So to conclude….I declare my imaginary Build-A-Boob shop now open for business and I am my own first client, the shop has had its first sale, so to speak. 

Just think, nobody will be able to call me ‘saggy tits’ when I get to a certain age where gravity will take over to a greater degree. Well…they may call me ‘saggy tit!’ But all my friends will be called ‘saggy tits’….plural….so I WIN! 

Hmmmmmm….something tells me my shop isn’t going to be very busy, I may have to close down sooner than I anticipated. In all honesty, let’s bloody hope so, eh! After all, who really wants to have to come through the doors to my imaginary shop? Not if they can help it. 

So, I guess the moral of this story, don’t purchase from my Build-A-Boob shop if you don’t have to. If you do come to me, I’ll assume you’re here because Cancer decided to invade your life too. And for that, I am sorry and I am here for you. Remember, we are in this together, us warriors. 

P.S. I did take my little boy to a Build-A-Bear workshop not too long ago .. he built a very cool bear and named him R2-D2. He dressed him in dungarees, roller skates and added some glitter for extra sparkle. Definitely a fun outing!

#belikeabbie

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Talking About Reconstruction Uncategorized

The First Time I Saw You – A Memoir to my New Boob!

The first time I looked at you in the mirror, I stopped….stood still and gasped….you gave me quite a shock. This might sound like a contradiction in terms but you looked good, you did look amazing, (it really is phenomenal what can be done with plastic surgery these days) and I’m pleased you’re here rather than not here, for the reason that you’ve replaced cancer, but you look poorly, scarred, battered and bruised, swollen and dimply. This was the morning after you were created so it’s bound to take you some time to get comfortable in your new position, get used to your new place of residence. It will take a while for you to settle in, drop into place, to look like you fit, like you belong. I know you have taken the place of cancer but I still keep asking: “What are you doing here? Why did you have to show up? Who invited you? I didn’t ask for you to be part of me.”

I didn’t have freedom of choice when it came to you. It really is an odd feeling, and I can see it’s going to take some time for me to fully accept you being here. You’ve just suddenly appeared with not too much prior warning. I’ve not been given an awful lot of time to prepare for your arrival. And now that you’re here, I ask myself, would I ever have been prepared enough? How can you prepare for something like this until it’s actually happening and you’re experiencing the emotions that come with it? 

Your counterpart before you looked more natural than you, looked different to you, felt different to you. I don’t mean to cause offence but she had more warmth, looked like she belonged. You feel numb, you feel cold, don’t have much heart and soul. 

So, today, I shed a tear, a river of tears. Head in hands….I just sobbed. Sometimes I see you and feel alright about your presence, other times I see you and don’t want to see what’s staring me in the face, I can’t look at you without feeling choked up. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I scream!

There’s a discrepancy in my thoughts because I can’t get used to you being here yet, but I still feel a sense of wanting you to be ok and well and look less battered and bruised. In one breath I’m glad your predecessor has gone because of the first cancer cell she let in through the door, followed by its many mates that decided to join the sodding ‘cancer party’, uninvited. Why, I ask myself, do I feel that way about the old resident when she didn’t keep away those cells that tried to kill me? Why do I feel the way I do, feel such loyalty to her when she made an attempt to shorten my lovely life, tried to steal a young child’s mother, tried to take an older mother’s child, attempted to take over and control me. Why do I want my old boob back when she tried to control my life, my very existence?

And then in the next breath, I do want her back. You are not the same as her, not what I’ve been used to all these years. I mourn for the boob that once was. Am I grieving for the one I have lost? Maybe. I miss my old boob. I miss the symmetry. I miss the twin, the other half of a good pair.

Then I tell myself that change should be welcomed. I find myself saying that sometimes change is good, hard to get your head around at first, but good. It’s true to say, we soon learn to adapt, we learn to give appreciation. Out with the old, in with the new, which can sometimes be quite refreshing, right? And as a newbie on my body, in new territory, you will learn to fit in, you will get comfortable with your new surroundings. How long, though, will it take for ME to get used to you being around, to learn to adapt? I realise I have some acceptance work to do. And this is quite normal isn’t it? 

I need to keep reminding myself why you’ve come, why you’re here to stay. Why you’ve been sent as a replacement. And the answer is clear in my mind. You’re here as a reminder that I AM ALIVE!

Leading up to this pivotal point, I can’t help feeling like I had lost my power, given it away, lost control of my existence. I must take back that power, I must own my thoughts which will make everything ok. And I do have the power to choose how I see things. We all do. How we live, how we think, how we feel, how we respond to outside influences, how we react to the happenings in our lives. So, I tell myself this….I AM powerful. I have the power to choose to embrace change. And in the best way I know how. So why the resistance? Because I am human and I need time to adjust to the changes that have been presented to me. I am allowed to resist. That’s totally alright too. But with my powerful mind, I just have to choose to look forward with joy and peace in my heart.

So, the simple fact of the matter is that I need to learn to love you because you have replaced bad with good. You’re a good egg! Yes, it’s evident, you are different. But you are not less. And different is ok. I will learn to embrace you because behind the scars and the bruising, it’s where cancer once lived and no longer does. Cancer is now gone! You, my new boob, may not be the original, but you’re ‘shiny and new’. I loved my shiny, new car when it arrived (although that didn’t come out of the showroom battered and dented) so it just may not be a love at first sight feeling with you. But it will come, I will feel the same way about you. Cancer didn’t get a chance to take my body and I will see you as a boob of honour for my courage, my bravery, a sign that I have overcome a fight, a battle…a battle that I have well and truly won! 

So, the choice I now need to make is this….do I see you as an unfamiliar mound or do I see you as confirmation that I am strong, I am bold, I am awesome…..and I survived! 

Cancer came along to teach me things, teach me strength, teach me a new found overcoming attitude I never thought I possessed. I’ve overcome adversity in life before but never like this. Nothing as challenging as this. Now cancer has gone and you have taken the place of the disease, I will choose to give thanks to you for being here.

So, I WILL get through this initial phase of not seeing you as being a part of me. I will adjust to my new body shape, but I think I need to take little steps of acceptance, one process at a time. And when I have taken those little incremental steps, I will see you as a survival boob. You saved my life, and your being here will tell a story of my courage.

This is where I remind myself of the conversation I had with your predecessor before she had to be taken away:

Me: “Dodgy Boob, I’m unhappy with you, you’ve made me sad and caused me a lot of grief these last few months. 

Dodgy Boob: “I’m so sorry Abbie. I didn’t mean to.”

Me: “I didn’t ask you to give me this hassle, this pain. I used to like you, you were alright in my book before all of this. But you’ve betrayed me so now ya gotta go!”

Dodgy Boob: “I didn’t mean to let in that first unwanted nasty cancer cell. It just turned up uninvited and I didn’t have the strength to send it away. It was so persistent and insistent on staying. And then it kept bringing along its mates. There were so many of them and they totally overwhelmed me. Will you ever forgive me?”

Me: “Well….before you go, I think I can find it in my heart to forgive you. I guess it’ll be essential for me to move on. You still need to go though so I can concentrate on healing fully. But I suppose I will miss you. You have been good to me.”

Dodgy Boob: “Thank you. And again, I’m so sorry. Oh…and tell my replacement that it needs to look after you well.”

So….new boob, will you do that? Will you carry out what your predecessor has asked of you?

I am still here, living on this Earth. And if this battered, new mound I stare at in the mirror is to be part of my new life, I will learn to love you. Because you will heal, you will look like you belong. It may take a little time to adjust, it will certainly take strength of mind on my part. But I choose to view you through loving eyes.

In order to live a blissful and joyful life, that means loving everything about life including the ups and the downs, and includes loving everything about the person I am, the inside of me AND the outside of me. Because behind the bruises and the scars, my heart is beating, and my heart is still, if not even more so, full of love and gratitude. I am grateful for being a living being! And I will continue to affirm to myself….I am mentally strong! I am a whole woman and I am accepted just as I am, especially by the person in the mirror. 

Love yourself first, my friends, then you can be sure that life will love you right back. 

#belikeabbie

Categories
Talking About Reconstruction

Thunder Thighs are Go!!!!!!

In a previous blog, I informed you lovely people about the fact that my thighs and my bottom have always been the parts of my body that I wish were a little slimmer. My exact words were, ‘they’re a bit flabby it has to be said’. They’ve never really been the same since my four knee operations years ago following my many years as a dancer…..Well, am I glad I’ve got wobbly thighs now!! Read on….and I’ll tell you ALL about how my flabby thighs could, in fact, be my saviour when it comes to my reconstructed boob!

So, it was time for me to meet my breast surgeon in person and chat about all things ‘cancer in my titty’ related. 

Ooohhhh, here we go….I feel it coming in….take a guess what I’m going to do here….off on a tangent I go! 🤣 The other day, I googled ‘alternative words for breasts’ so I wasn’t just using the obvious ‘breast’, ‘boob’, tit’ and ‘boobie’ in my blogs. 

I am about to share with you my absolute favourites. But, firstly, let me tell you that when I was younger, say about 18, old enough to be in a pub….although I had been frequenting a certain local pub in the village, in which I grew up, for two years leading up to my 18th birthday. When I walked into the pub with one of those huge birthday badges pinned to my top with a 1 and an 8 on it side by side, the landlord, JT, said to me, with a look of horror on his face, ‘18????? You’ve been drinking in ‘ere for two years Abigail!’ (You will notice his usage of my full name here!) Ah well yes, JT, I know.’ I responded. ‘But isn’t it better that I’ve been in your good establishment lining your pub pockets sipping on my Hooch, Barcardi Breezers or Malibu and Coke rather than drinking Strongbow from a plastic bottle on the common round the corner?’ He didn’t say much to that. I think he managed to muster a grunt as he walked away with his hunched shoulders to feed his dog, THE BIGGEST DOG I’VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE by the way! Forget the TV star dog ‘Digby’, this dog, ‘Legend’, was not a dog-sized animal, he was more akin to a donkey! Massive hound it was. So, I’ll never know whether JT had a little smirk on his face as he turned away from me or a fierce frown realising that he’d been serving an under aged drinker for two years! Sorry JT. Bit late to apologise now, I know, but I did have such fun in your, slightly grotty, pub in my late teenaged years. Thank you for the good times. Now go and rest a few pieces of sweetcorn on those bushy, curled up eyebrows of yours. 😬

So, on the subject of fun in JT’s pub. I was 18 or so and I was always pretty flat chested before this time. Then suddenly, after going on ‘the Pill’, I’d acquired some rather large bazookas (well bigger than the bee stings I was used to walking around with. That’s what ‘they’ used to call my baps…people can be so cruel!) So, because having an ok set of mammaries was fairly new to me, I became so very proud of them. And….(oh my gosh, I think back now and cringe. Sorry Mum!)….I used to flash them to the older lads in the pub. Only for a couple of seconds before hiding them away again under my skin tight crop top. ‘Dear God Abbie’, I am saying to the older, more sensible version of me with way more grace and decorum, ‘what were you thinking girl?!’ I was then being goaded by the older lads to keep doing it on occasion. As soon as I heard the words, ‘Hey Abbie, show us yer Barrichellos!’ I knew it was my cue. I feel mortified now, looking back! Oh well, I can’t turn back the clock. Haven’t we all done things in the past we regret?! 

Anyway, going back to my favourite alternative names for boobies, here is my list:

Breasticles, LalliesDouble-Whammies (It looks like I’ll have a Single-Whammie at the beginning of May!! 😳)Lady Lumps, Super Mamio Sisters, Brad Pitts, The Mitchell Brothers (shall I call my remaining one Grant or Phil?) Norks (oh I love this one and when you use this term, it’s best to say it like this…..Nooooooorks!) Jubblies (I hear this one a lot!) Rack (someone once said to me ‘nice rack’! I actually didn’t know what they were talking about (oh so innocent!). I had to ask the friend I was with what the chap was saying to me to which she replied, “just smile and say ‘oh thanks’”. Dear readers, if you have any favourite Boobie terms, please do share! It could entertain us all. 

Sooooooo…..now it’s time to revert back to the meeting with my breast surgeon. I won’t bore you with all of the intricate details. But in a nutshell, I went along to meet her and to learn about what to expect from the mastectomy surgery, the procedure, the recovery time, that sort of thing. It was confirmed that I would most definitely need radiotherapy to zap the remaining cancerous cells and the we discussed breast reconstruction. Firstly, she asked my reasons for wanting a reconstruction. To which I replied that my work (daytime work and evening work) are industries where I’m ‘on show’, so to speak, and that from an emotional point of view, I feel I’d cope better with having two breasts rather than just one. I’m not taking anything at all away from those ladies who have had mastectomies and chosen to stay ‘flat’ as is the term, and not have a breast reconstruction, but for me, and my mental health, it is important. It’s all entirely a personal choice and we should all be allowed to have our personal reasons and respect each other’s views on this. 

The surgeon continued to speak and inform me about the different types of reconstructions there are, generally, and then proceeded to tell me that breast implants, which I thought I would like to consider, wouldn’t be an option for me, as it’s strongly suggested that implants shouldn’t be inserted after radiotherapy. So that ruled that option out….first blow. I thought I’d have more options, more choices. 

Then the surgeon spoke about the different parts of my body from which they could take natural materials, my fat or muscle. She was implying that because of my slight frame (oh I really, really LOVE you, I thought!) there wasn’t many places on my body from which she felt they could take fat to create a ‘lady lump’. Can you see where this is going? Well, I didn’t see it at first. I wasn’t cottoning on to what she was trying to tell me. At this point, I noticed that she sat forward a bit, knowing I was keen to have a breast reconstruction once my scar had healed, and told me that a reconstruction may not be possible. That I will never, at age 44, have a right breast. But I would still have my left breast. My emotions came up from the pit of my stomach, up towards my throat, and out through my eyes. I sobbed and sobbed! The tissues were handed to me and I drenched them. I regained my composure after a few minutes and we carried on. 

Soon after, it was time for her to physically examine me. She confirmed that, yes, there was not enough fat on my stomach to be used to reconstruct a breast, there wasn’t enough fat on my back (‘back fat’ I like to call it) to reconstruct a breast. (My heart was in my throat!) Then it came to my bottom and thighs. There wasn’t enough fat at the top of my bottom to reconstruct a breast. Mixed emotions at this point…..Wahoo!!!!!!!!!!!! I metaphorically punched the air. In that moment I celebrated the fact that I didn’t have enough bum fat to aid the reconstruction. I no longer had what was perceived to be a sizeable, and a bit flabby, behind. YES!!!! My whole life I’ve had comments about my rounded posterior….no longer my friends. It ain’t got enough fat to make a bazooka….result! However, this obviously meant it was another place on my body that couldn’t help me in this situation. And wooosh….I’m back ‘down there’ again. What a wave of emotions in one 1.5 hour appointment. No wonder I was feeling so emotionally and mentally drained when I walked out of those hospital doors. 

There was only one place left to look at….my inner thighs…..and here is where I repeat the title of this blog….Thunder thighs are GO!!!!!! I am superwoman with chunky thighs. (She goes and grabs her purple superhero cape and flies off to save the world from being crushed between her inner thighs!)

The surgeon spoke from behind the curtain where she had examined me and got hold of my thighs: “There is more here than I thought just from looking at you in your clothes”. There was definitely an element of surprise in her voice when she discovered there was something a bit more substantial to grab hold of. 

Oh what a relief. My thigh fat can be used to recreate my right Breasticle. AND, even though it’s going to be a HUGE operation….cut open thighs, take fat from thighs, stitch up thighs, make a Boobie from that fat, stitch that up….what’s the greatest result here? Not only a new ‘Brad Pitt’, but….THINNER THIGHS!!!!!

Albeit a massive scar left on my inner thighs for the rest of my life but still…….Thunder Thighs Are Go!
#alwaysasilverlining 😀

Best I get eating my incredibly delicious but fattening homemade stilton and broccoli soup, with heavily buttered bread on the side, chocolate cake and perhaps some ice cream for dessert and get these thighs ready for action! (she says scoffing pizza in her face!!!!)

#belikeabbie