We all know October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, right? \u00a0And you know what that means! \u00a0We talk about boobies! Jugs! Knockers! Bazookas!<\/p>\n
Life is funny.\u00a0 Even ironic!<\/p>\n
Growing up, I \u2018developed\u2019 very early. \u00a0I loathed my Play Dough form. \u00a0My body couldn\u2019t handle the extra cargo at such a young age. \u00a0None of my friends had this issue and I felt like either one of my extra-endowed grandmothers.\u00a0 True story: To flatten my burgeoning teacups, I would wrap an Ace bandage around my chest. \u00a0It was all workable until summertime. \u00a0My solution was to wear an ugly Speedo suit, and tie the straps with a shoelace, until my chest flattened enough for me not to wear a poncho into the pool.<\/p>\n
As my body surged forth into the high school years, I was still larger than any of my friends.\u00a0 I continued to hate how I looked. \u00a0I wore billowy clothes, football jerseys and my brother\u2019s t-shirts. \u00a0It didn\u2019t help that the boys would yell at me in the cafeteria: \u201cHow\u2019re those melons smellin\u2019, Helen?\u201d \u00a0I was so confused I would yell back: \u201cI don\u2019t know! Ripe?\u201d\u00a0 That is until my friend, Denise, explained that I was being harassed. \u00a0I wasn\u2019t savvy enough to be affronted. \u00a0I just continued to dress like Mama Cass.<\/p>\n
Now the wheels really came off the mammary wagon when I gave birth to my daughter. \u00a0I tried to breastfeed but had a legitimate fear that I could smother her with those submarines filled with nature\u2019s bounty. \u00a0The best day for both of us was when I shoved a bottle of unnatural formula down her throat.<\/p>\n
But my chest remained freakishly large.\u00a0 I felt like I had to pay for carry-on luggage when I flew. \u00a0But I had no carry-on luggage. \u00a0Just a carry-on set of eggplants. \u00a0My back ached, I slouched like Shrek and I wanted to carry them around in a grocery cart.<\/p>\n
I made the best decision of my life a few years later when I discovered a thing called breast reduction surgery. \u00a0I won\u2019t go into the icky details (although you know I\u2019d love to) but suffice it to say that it was a whole new world. \u00a0I finally felt properly compartmentalized. \u00a0My 4\u201911\u201d body wasn\u2019t being suffocated by those awful feedbags any longer.<\/p>\n
Let\u2019s jump ahead to 2010 (this is the ironic part) when breast cancer wreaked havoc upon my soul. \u00a0As a result, I had the mother <\/strong>of all breast reductions. \u00a0Goodbye toxic tatas! \u00a0You and I were never right for each other, anyway. \u00a0It\u2019s not you, it\u2019s me.<\/p>\n After countless procedures and revisions, all signs of cancer, breasts and implants were removed forever. \u00a0I was faced with the exact opposite issue that had plagued my younger years; a dichotomy of breasts. \u00a0Now I was struggling to find a way to plump me up, so I didn\u2019t resemble a 12-year-old boy.<\/p>\n While I was debating the purchase of expensive mastectomy bathing suits for my vacation, my friend, Jen, said to me: \u201cYou wear whatever the hell you want! \u00a0No one knows you on that beach. \u00a0You can be whomever you want to be. \u00a0No one cares.\u201d<\/p>\n A switch was flipped. \u00a0She was so right. \u00a0I decided to forget attempting to build-up my depleted sandcastles. \u00a0I am free. \u00a0I am unencumbered. \u00a0Let freedom ring! \u00a0Not swing. \u00a0I am good enough. Finally. The decades of Breast-gate are over. \u00a0How are the melons smelling? \u00a0Just right, thanks.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n