Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Bye bye boobs

My mom wonders if – like soldiers who lose limbs – I’ll have phantom boob syndrome.

Jim says it’ll make me smarter.

And me? I’m a little nervous about losing a bit of my mojo, à la Austin Powers.
My chest started sprouting in the fourth grade.

I’ll never forget the first time I heard people commenting on it.

I was walking home from the bus stop through our old neighborhood on Brentwood Drive. Keep in mind that my family moved when I finished fifth grade so I was still in elementary school when this happened.

“Look at her. How old is she?”
“I don’t know, I thought she was in fifth grade.”
“She’s wearing a bra.”
“I don’t even wear a bra yet.”

That was a group of high school kids that I had to walk past to get to my house.

It was an extremely uncomfortable moment. And it marked the beginning of 30 years of physically and mentally uncomfortable moments.
Tomorrow is the big day. And I owe all of this to my dear friend Susie.

We were lounging by the pool last summer during her annual weekend trip to Chicago. She comes here from Michigan to get away from being a mom and a wife for a few days. And we both get to act like we’re college roommates again.

We chill, talk, laugh, shop, drink, and laugh some more.

“You don’t have to live like this, you know,” she said, sipping the fruity frothy drink that Jim, our pool boy for the weekend, made for us. “They’re huge. You should really think about surgery.”

Two women that she works with had it done and were very happy, she said.

That was Saturday.

On Monday I called my doctor and made the first appointment.

Thank you, Susie. Thank you so much. You’re a true blessing of a friend.
I’m on my back, sleeping in the sand at Metro Beach. It’s that magical summer between high school and college.

“Do you think they’re real?”
“I dunno, they sure look real. But they’re too big to be real.”

I open my eyes to see two black guys hovering over me like rain clouds with eyes.

“They’re real. Now go away. You’re blocking my sun.”
Mojo? What the hell do you mean, mojo?

I dunno. It’s silly.

But when you’ve lived with these things for so long it becomes a part of your identity.

I wonder if I’ll feel different. If I’ll lose part of what makes me, Me.
I’m looking forward to no more rude stares as I walk through the Loop. I’m looking forward to less neck and back pain. Oh, and shopping.

For the first time in my life shopping for clothes will be fun and enjoyable rather than challenging and stressful.
I was sitting in a conference room in my surgeon’s office yesterday morning for the pre-operative meeting.

They were running late so I had time to count the 19 plaques on the wall from various boards, societies, associations, and hospitals.

At least they’ll be in good hands.
HedyBlog will be taking a break for the rest of this week.

Me and my new boobs will be making our big comeback Thanksgiving week.

I am listening to: Comforty train sounds
I am reading: Crain's Chicago Business
And I am: Counting the hours


Drib said...

Shoot girl...you have to do what you have to do to make yourself feel better. As far as it being your "mojo"? Naaahh, your mojo is inside you :)

Let us know how you are when you can and I wish you the very best of luck!

Rhea said...

I just discovered your blog but wanted to say it sounds like you made a great decision to do this. I am curious to hear how it all went!