I was googling, I mean researching, breast reconstruction options, pros and cons, longevity of autologous reconstructions sans implants etcetera etcetera as you do and did a double take at the word amputation. Holy shit. I just had my second breast amputated. Fuck, that sounds so much worse than removed. And no doubt I felt the same 13 years ago, but I forgot. I was liking the dealability of removed. Funny how we frame things to make them more palatable. More doable. And why not? Whatever it takes, just so long as you know you can only lie to yourself for so long. Anyway, my right breast has now been removed. I miss my nipple more than I miss my breast. Weird feeling nothing. But at least now I won’t have a single nipple stand anymore. But the complete lack of feeling is a tad disconcerting. I thought I would like the symmetry of nothingness. No doubt I will get used to it. Its been two weeks since my amputation, couldn’t resist, and I am recovering well. I have been extremely well behaved and not done too much at all. I also haven’t looked too closely at myself because it looks like shit. Sorry to my stylish Canadian plastic surgeon, and he is, but it does. I know its only phase 1, but whats with this wad of tissue sitting under my armpit? And that ain’t vanity, because I do know how much worse it all could be, so I am so very grateful to be at this stage in this phase of my cancer story, its just fucking uncomfortable. What is this though? If not vanity. A need to fit in? To feel whole? Why am I reconstructing my breasts. Why do I feel I need these false mounds on my chest to feel normal. They’re not normal. They’re also not me. Actually they are if we whip out and don’t add any implants, they’re just my back on my front. Which is all kinds of fucked up that I love it. Nothing is ever as it seems. And you all know I’ve always wanted to be flat chested, so why not now? Why am I putting myself through this hell again, being butchered again, so I can feel like a woman? I don’t need false breasts to feel like a woman. What even is a woman? Did I just say that? Get a grip Cawood. Anyhoo. My breasts don’t make me, no more than my hair made me. And I need them less than I did, to feel like me. Its called growing up I think. Fuck, Lianne couldn’t you have had this epiphany two weeks ago, before they slashed into your lat muscle to recreate part of a breast? So I’m sitting here with what they call a “shark bite” cut, evidence of where part of my right lat muscle was cut and flipped under my arm to form a breast mound, with back skin filling the hole where my nipple and areola were. They also inserted a tissue expander as I’ll need an implant too as phase 2. So next step is to remove the tissue expander and insert an implant, and then recreate a nipple. Phase 3. I remembered I had forgotten to ask my stylish Canadian plastic surgeon how. In keeping with my going with the flow stance. Me very consciously walking my talk. My control really hasn’t altered any outcome thus far, soooo. Anyhow, apparently he manipulates the back skin, that I currently have on this weird swollen breast like mound into a nipple like shape, so no more harvesting of tissue from elsewhere. Unlike last time. How lucky am I. Seriously despite my tone I am. I really am and if nothing else I’m going for some semblance of symmetry here and i love symmetry. The doc is happy with me post surgery, was a bit of fluid build up, the scar is puckered, i am fucking swollen, but hey you’re doing so well, he said. And I am. Did I also mention pathology was all clear.