More Foob Talk...

Well folks.
It's now been three whole weeks and a day since surgery #2--the ol' expander/implant switcheroo--and I gotta say, it's interesting.
Those of you who've followed this blog as 'long-timers' know that when I use the word 'interesting,' I feel pretty neutral about the subject at hand--and that definitely applies here.

I don't DISLIKE the foobs. But honestly, I'm not fond of them, either. I haven't decided whether some of that has to do with the fact that the surgery glue is still greatly intact and things are still somewhat 'in progress' from the final result that will eventually 'be'...or whether I just, literally, am not going to ever like them that I feel so unsettled.

Sure, some of it probably has to do with the fact that absolutely NOTHING will take away (or give back what this past year took away) *depending on how you want to look at it* the raw fact that I. HAD. CANCER.
That will always be the case.
Things will never be the same.
NOT having some form of boobs will remind me. But I didn't expect HAVING some form of boobs to be just as much a reminder. I suppose I hoped that they'd just help me to embrace my 'new me' more... but so far, they aren't doing that. In fact, being that I am just *for the most part* one of those 'what you see is what you get' kinda gals, I feel like I'm being a little otherwise, now.
I look like I have boobs.
But I don't.
Not anymore.
As I was in the shower thinking about this last night, I found myself giggling at the image of a little A or B-cup girl shoving a bunch of toilet-tissue down her shirt to APPEAR to have bigger ones than are actually under there. Please... if you have made the choice to have implants somewhere along the road in your life... do NOT take offense to me saying this. Surely, my feelings on this matter, concerning me, go far deeper than just the argument of fake boobs/no fake boobs.
But even when the subject of breast-feeding came up with the boys at our dinner-table tonight I found myself saying, out loud, 'Yeah, mommy won't ever have the ability to produce milk again though like she did for you guys, cause to get my cancer out, they had to take all of that stuff out, too.' Not to say I haven't thought a lot about this as a young woman breast-cancer fighter, but to hear it out-loud, from my own mouth. was a bit more cutting than even I realized it would be.

I suppose what I have to learn from this is just was I've said about all of it from the get-go.

THIS world is flawed.
My BODY is dying--as is yours.
This life I am living inside this body is so temporary and so short on the scale of eternity. I was given 32 years in a 'normal' body. That's more than some get from the moment they take their first breath. And that's even more than some get before being allowed a breath, ever.
32 years. 
Sure, it's short. It feels like it was cut short on a scale of 80 years of life. Or even 50 years. But I was GIFTED 32. And I was GIFTED the opportunity to breast-feed two beautiful and healthy children... regardless of what any future children of ours may be 'forced' to experience. Some women without ever having cancer never get that opportunity.

I am just grateful for what I had.
I am truthfully a little weirded out, currently, with what I have now... but like I said to a beautiful woman and cancer-survivor-friend of mine who was struggling, recently, 'It's not about focusing on what you missed out on--it's about embracing what you got IN on!'

So thanks, Lord, for 32 years that consisted of no broken bones, no surgeries, two beautiful, healthy pregnancies resulting in two amazing little people and two substantial-sized, soft, round and normal boobs that allowed me the opportunity to feed those two amazing little people, adequately.


The ONLY teensy-tiny request I have now is this: Pretty please, with sugar on top...give me back the ability to side-sleep again. I'm a fetal-position kinda girl and I'm just not so convinced I can learn otherwise... ;)