Thursday Brew with Gwen: Where is my Boob!

‘Where is my boob?’ I looked with consternation as my granddaughter Natalie pulled a pair of bras from the shopping bag in which she had brought me a set of clothes.

I had spent two days in hospital with a gastro bug and felt that to go home fully clothed rather than in pajamas and dressing gown would help my self-esteem considerably.

Natalie continued to unpack the bag, a slip, a skivvy, a skirt, a jacket followed but no boob.  I had visions of going home only half a woman and that did not please me.  It was one thing for me to know I was only half a woman but the rest of the world was not privy to such knowledge.

Natalie dived into the bag again and came up with another bra.  ‘My Boob!  There it is!’ I cried wanting to kiss both Natalie and the boob. The missing boob, a prosthetic insert, nestled cozily in the bra cup.  I could now go home a complete woman.

I had lost my boob in 2012 to cancer.  It is now 2015 and I am into my fourth year of remission.  In another year and six months, I shall be able to close this chapter of my life successfully.

Why did I choose radical surgery rather than lumpectomy? The statistic of the recurrence of cancer was about 1% compared with a much higher percentage from lumpectomy.  Having a lumpectomy meant six weeks of radiotherapy that in turn meant I would have to live away from home during that time. There is still medication to take that suppresses the female hormones my aged body may make.  The hot flushes are very uncomfortable side effects, especially in summer; a small price to pay for a second chance at life.

As a 79-year-old woman, I was no longer trim taught and terrific.  The effect of gravity on my body sent everything south.  Therefore, I chose life rather than the aesthetics of a perfect body.  My husband was on the sidelines cheering my decision, ‘Get rid of it.  It was never any use to you as a nursing mother.’

If I had been a younger woman, my decision might have been different but I felt life was more important than looks. I surrendered my boob.

Why did I not have a breast reconstruction? During my recuperation period, everyone I heard of who had chosen breast reconstruction seemed to be in pain and suffering infection, so I said that is not for me.

How can I bear to look at the mutilation of my body?  I do not see it as mutilation I see it as life. The loss of a boob is more a badge of honour.  I had taken a hit by cancer but beaten it.

I have never felt half a woman. When my prosthesis appeared to be missing, I did feel I had lost a friend, though, even if it was a silicone boob.