I have news for those imbeciles who invented and/or celebrate No Bra Day: I already set my “boobies” free nearly 10 years ago when I had a bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction. I eagerly set them free because they came close to killing me. Ya see, my right “ta-ta” had a malignant tumor in it five years prior, and I had so much fun with surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy that I couldn’t handle another repeat slash-burn-and-poison party.
So I set my breasts free for good.
When my “girls” were set free and placed in a jar or wherever the hell they place breast tissue and analyze it, I discovered that my left breast — the supposedly healthy one — was filled with precancerous cells. And I was so happy that I possibly prevented a recurrence. But I was also numb, as I realized, yet again, how close to death my breasts brought me. Yet, even after my bilateral mastectomy with reconstruction, I still grieved for those horrible originals, those devils, because, call me crazy, I always wanted to keep the parts I was born with.
But instead, I had to set them free.
Post-mastectomy was a horrifying time. Recovery was a real bitch. ICU sucked. My chest and torso were adorned with so many stitches, they looked like railroad tracks over my whole torso. But whoo-hoo, I wasn’t wearing a bra then. Now the stitches are history and I have faint scars and fake nipples. And I must live every day with physical scars, but even worse, I must live with the emotional scars caused by breast cancer. Ya know, small things like body image issues and PTSD.
Today, almost 10 years after my surgery, I’ve come to accept my fake breasts — sorry, they are not perky. They are asymmetrical. That’s what happens sometimes when one has breast cancer. In my case, my right breast had a history before the mastectomy: It had a lumpectomy and re-excision, radiation, and another lumpectomy down the road. That breast got pretty darn hideously deformed. Then the bilateral mastectomy corrected some of the ugliness, but my cancer-affected breast is still a different size than my left unaffected one.
The good news is that I found a great mastectomy fitter who found a prosthesis for my right breast. So with my special, pocketed bra on and my prosthesis, I look completely symmetrical. This choice is not for everyone, but this is what I wanted.
Frankly, we should have a Keep a Bra On Day because each night I take my bra off the truth replaces the facade and reminds me of my grief and loss — thanks to the ugliness that is breast cancer.
Each night, for me, it is Set My Prosthesis Free Day. Because truth is, I resent the fact that I need a prosthesis. I resent that removing my bra each night means facing my cancer demons constantly. Most of all, I resent all those losers who celebrate No Bra Day.
It’s too bad that men afflicted with breast cancer cannot participate in No Bra Day. But then again, men are not sexualized like women are, so what’s the point in involving them in any kind of debasement?
I survived breast cancer thus far, but I don’t feel like celebrating. Because breast cancer isn’t a fun opportunity to party. Because breast cancer is a disease of grief, loss, suffering and, in too many cases, death.
No Bra Day is a bunch of bullshit.
Rant over. I just had to get something off my chest. Pun noted.
For an excellent post on No BRA Day, see the Cancer Curmudgeon’s excellent piece, How About a ‘What Cancer Really Does to Breasts Day’?.