Bye Bye, Boobies… a farewell on the eve of my double mastectomy

Chemo is finished, the ultrasound showed no tumor, and I have enjoyed the past few chemo-free weeks, each day getting stronger and more energetic, and truly enjoying every moment. I never thought that getting a pedicure, shaving my legs, seeing friends, playing with my doggy, or going back to my power yoga class would give me such profound senses of joy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the littlest things now.

But tomorrow, I will lose my real breasts. I have spent a lot of time coming to terms with the decision I made to do the double mastectomy. Because until my diagnosis in October, it was something I swore I’d never do. I have said before that one of the reasons I didn’t do the BRCA testing for so long was because I knew what the doctors would tell me: that because I’m BRCA1 positive, I have a 60–70% chance of breast cancer and 40–50% chance of ovarian cancer, and that the only real prevention is prophylactic removal surgeries — a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy. I was against both of these, and KNEW I would never do them, because I thought they were barbaric, extreme, and as I have discussed in previous posts, was confident there were other ways of prevention. But, again, those other ways did not prevent my breast cancer. And so, after much careful thought, I decided to do the suggested double mastectomy once chemo was over.

Even though the tumor is gone, and hopefully the breast tissue biopsy from the surgery will show no evidence of cancer cells, after all that is done, there is still a 60% chance for breast cancer recurrence, both because of its triple negative status and my BRCA mutation…. That is, unless I do the surgery, which then reduces my risk of recurrence by 95%. Given what I just went through with chemo, and knowing that I have already tried unsuccessfully to prevent cancer holistically, I chose to do it. I would rather be alive than save the breasts I was born with. And coming to terms with this throughout the past five months has been a journey and a process.

When I talk to people about being sad about losing my real breasts, many say that my breasts tried to kill me, so they need to go. But I have never once thought about it like this. Throughout this whole process, from diagnosis to treatment, I have never been angry at my breasts. I have actually loved them. Because instead of trying to kill me, I believe they are trying to teach me something. And so as I arrive at the moment of losing them, I have realized that maybe it is time for them to go because I have learned the lessons I need to from them.

I am doing reconstruction after the mastectomy, and will admit that I am very scared of many things regarding my new breasts. What if I hate the way they look? What if I feel completely detached from them, and therefore, my body? What if they look fake? What if I always feel the pressure of the implants under my chest muscles? What if they are too big, even though the plan is to stay my same size? What if my boyfriend doesn’t like them and is not attracted to me anymore? What if I never fully recover from the surgery and am therefore never able to do my beloved vinyasa down dog, plank, chaturanga, up dog flow again and lose my arm strength and tone?

Or, what if I never get used to, or can accept, the loss of feeling in my new breasts? Even though I am one of the lucky ones who gets to keep her own nipples, it is purely aesthetic, and there will never be feeling in them again. Ever. I might possibly get some little feeling back in the breast skin, maybe, and in a while, but will never have feeling in my breasts again like I do now. So I am scared about how that will affect my sex life and my sexuality. But then I think my lesson here is that my sexuality is not based on my breasts. I am a sensual woman just because I’m me. And my boyfriend will still love me, be attracted to me, and experience pleasure with me because I’m me. Not because of which boobs I do or don’t have.

I read a book called Journey of Souls a few years ago, and something in there really resonated with me. It was written by a doctor who, through hypnosis, regressed patients to the place where their souls went after death. It’s really fascinating. One of the main things that stuck out to me was that our bodies and our souls are two separate things, and our soul chooses the body. Each soul, before coming back and being reborn, knows what lessons it needs to learn in the next lifetime, and is given a few choices of which body to be born into. The soul is shown that, for example, one body will develop a certain illness at a certain time, one will be born with a handicap, one will be born with an extraordinary genius-level gift of music, etc., and then gets to make the decision about which body it wants to choose for the next life based on the lessons it needs to learn.

Following that line of thought then, it was a biological predestination for cancer to grow in my breast in my late 30’s, and for me to be born with the BRCA1 mutation. And my soul, knowing that, chose this body in order to learn certain lessons. It’s not that somehow my thoughts, negativity, karma, eating poorly, not taking the right supplements, or whatever else, created the cancer. My soul already knew this was going to happen to my body and chose it for a reason. I’ve thought about this a lot during my treatment, often in hopes to stop beating myself up for thinking I caused it somehow. And lately, I have come to an acceptance that my soul chose this body knowing about the cancer, and therefore, there is something I am meant to learn through this experience, and through the loss of my breasts.

My attachment to my breasts and the role they have played in my life has been very central and prevalent. So I think that maybe I have learned what I needed to, and now it’s time to release the old way of thinking, the old behavior patterns, the old self-defeating beliefs, and enter a new phase of my life, with new lessons; a phase where I emerge as a self-confident woman who owns her power, her femininity, and her gifts. A phase where I can help as many people as possible, and do it through joy and compassion.

Look, of course I’m sad. I’m devastated, really, to lose my breasts. One of the things I’m the most sad about is not being able to feel the warmth of my boyfriend’s skin on my breasts as I cuddle up against him anymore. I will miss that so much. But, in truth, I haven’t fully allowed myself to feel or acknowledge all the sadness. I am sure a huge grieving and mourning period will come after the surgery, but I’ve tried to fill the past few months with celebration and humor, going on a sort of “farewell boob tour,” wearing things I was too scared to wear ever before for fear of looking too provocative or promiscuous, and doing a farewell boob photo shoot (thanks to my mom!) My friends even threw me a farewell boob karaoke party, and my sister and I made casts of our breasts (she too will have to do this surgery as a preventative, thanks to that BRCA gene, the gift that keeps on giving).

That’s how I’ve been dealing, with the date of losing my breasts always somewhere out there in the future. But now this is actually happening. I have to accept it and face it. The lessons my breasts needed to teach me have been learned; it’s time for a new phase and new lessons.

And so, on this eve of my double mastectomy, I have some things I would like to say to my breasts. First, I have some apologies. I would like to apologize for not showing them off more out of fear of being called a slut or people judging me. I would like to apologize for letting them be used by men who didn’t care about me, allowing it because I didn’t value myself more. But most importantly, I would like to apologize for never giving them the experience of feeding a baby. If (please, God!) I don’t stay in the hot flash hell of menopause brought on by chemo and do have a miracle child, my breasts will never feed him or her. I am so sad and sorry to miss out on that.

But for many more things, I’d like to say thank you to my breasts. Thank you for bringing me physical pleasure, for helping me feel good about myself when I thought I wasn’t worth much more than them or how I looked, for making me feel feminine and sensual, and for being such an integral part of who I was for 25 years. Thank you for contributing to the physical intimacy, sharing, and bond I had with the men I am (and was) in loving relationships with, and also for bringing them pleasure as well. And thank you for now, in an act of sacrifice, releasing what is no longer serving me on many levels, and allowing me to step into the strong, fearless, sensual, self-confidant, joyful, HEALTHY woman my soul knew I was supposed to be.

Today, with love and gratitude, I say goodbye and thank you to my breasts. I will miss you.