During my first fitting, about two weeks after my surgery, I told the lady at the breast cancer survivor's product/supply store that the boobs were too big. She insisted that I needed those D's even though I told her I'd never been that big in all my life. She was an older woman and seemed very determined to have her way, so I acquiesced. I know which battles to fight and which ones to leave alone. I left the store that day with 2 really big prostheses nestled comfortably in pink hat boxes. I also left with 4 matronly brassieres. When I say matronly, think Aunt Bea on Andy Griffith...yeah, THOSE kind of bras. You know the kind, those sturdy support bras...the kind that Ellie Mae Clampett (from The Beverly Hillbillies) used as a double barreled slingshot in one of the episodes. So needless to say, I wasn't thrilled with my purchases.
Today, I made a trip back to the prostheses store. I had called earlier in the day to talk with someone about my plight of having 2 huge D's and my need to swap them out for something smaller and more suitable. The woman on the phone was very understanding and encouraging. She told me that even though it'd been 6 months since my last fitting, she'd be more than happy to refit me and make the necessary exchanges. Now mind you, the only reason I was even considering wearing prostheses at this point in my journey was because my breast surgeon told me I HAD TO wear them. She reminded me that my body knew there was something missing from the front of my chest and if I didn't supply the necessary weight to compensate for my loss, my body would begin to react negatively to the situation. She said the first thing that would happen would be that my shoulders would start to round forward in a protective manner. Then she said my spine would start to change and I'd begin to have major problems with my stature. I was perfectly fine being flat chested and bra-less. But I figured the doctor knew better than I did what I should do at this point.
The fitter at the women's store took me back into a dressing room and asked me to remove my blouse. As I did, I noticed all of the certifications posted on the wall. I didn't know you had to be trained to be a prosthetic fitter, but apparently you do. The woman noticed that I was not wearing my bra and prostheses and she asked why. I explained that I just couldn't stand to have the weight of them against me. I told her the bra was very uncomfortable rubbing against my incisions. I held out the bra for her to hold and she was amazed at the weight of my fake boobs (or FOOBS as a lot of breast cancer survivors call them.)
After removing the massive D's from the mastectomy bra, she placed them gently into their round pink zippered boxes and smiled. She said, "I'll be back in a few minutes," as she left me standing there half nude. While she was out of the dressing room, I looked at myself in the mirror. My scars had healed quite nicely although they still looked hideous to me. The ugly purple had faded into a deep rose color but they were still reminders of the most horrible year of my life.
Within a few minutes, my fitter came back into the room. She had some new forms in her hands and told me that these were a size B. I told her they should be much better than the D's and she asked me to try them on. We stuffed them into the mastectomy bra and she helped me try it on. The weight of these FOOBS was much lighter, but they were so pointy that I couldn't help but laugh. She asked me what was wrong and I told her they stuck out way too much! Turning quickly on her heel, she spun around and headed back out the door.
Once again, the fitter entered the room. She held two small flesh colored gel implant looking prostheses in her hands. "How about these?" I held out my hands and she slipped the silicone ladies into my palms. I hefted the weight and was pleasantly surprised to find that they were very lightweight. I also liked the fact that they were gel coated on the side that would touch my body. The fitter said these were a new kind of prosthetic that had just come in with a cooling gel feature. She explained that the cooling gel was a plus for women who also were going through anti-hormone therapy. The coolness of the gel helped to counter the effects of the hot flashes that often accompanied therapies like Arimidex, Tamoxifen, Aromasin, and other anti-hormone therapies.
She handed me a new bra that reminded me of the training bra I received as a gift from my mother at the tender young age of 8. It was seamless and unobtrusive. I started to laugh and she asked once again why I was laughing. She must have thought I was some sort of nut to be laughing all through my fitting! I told her the story of how jealous I was when both my sister and I began approaching puberty. I went on to tell her about my mother's gifts to us. A "real" bra for my sister, and a "training" bra for me. She laughed along with me as she slipped the new bra over my shoulders.
Oh my goodness! I can't tell you how nice that bra felt! It was so smooth and so lightweight I barely felt I had on a bra at all! The weight of the prostheses was so minimal, I could hardly believe I was wearing anything. As I looked in the mirror, I was pleasantly surprised. I looked sideways and smiled at the little mounds of silicone jutting out from my chest. "These will do just fine," I said. She asked if I was sure...she said, "you know these are a double A?" I said, "they're perfect." She told me I could have any size I wanted and explained they had a full range of breast forms in sizes DD through AA. "We just want you to be happy," she said, with a look of concern on her face. I told her I was very happy. Finally I had a bra and prostheses that I felt comfortable wearing.
I left the store with my new bra and FOOBS on although my husband couldn't tell. I had on my winter coat and I didn't mention a thing to him. When we got home, I took off my coat. He still didn't notice, so I stood right in front of him and said, "look...new boobs!" He laughed and said, "where???" I pointed to my little mounds and he smiled. It was good...it was all good. No more DD's for me, I'm a AA girl all the way. I could have chosen bigger boobs but the pain wasn't worth it to me. I'd rather be barely there and comfortable than hunkered over with huge melons on my chest.
Bette Midler, in one of the songs she sang in the movie, Beaches, called a brassiere an over the shoulder boulder holder. I guess if you had DD's that would be a perfect description. It's funny how much attention people pay to women's chests anyway, isn't it? For an entertaining little video about boobs and brasseries, watch Bette Midler preform her song Otto Titsling. After all, boobs make good subject matter for not only blog posts but musicals too.
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