When I was a teenager, I envisioned turning 18 to be like a magic portal to not only becoming a bonafide woman, wuhehman, WHOAAAAman, but also to where all my dreams would come true, where I could do whatever the EFF my pretty little heart desired. And what I had my sights on was being a topless dancer at Mary’s in downtown Portland. So, when I turned 18, I checked off all of my boxes: Buy a lottery ticket, check. Pierce my nose, check. Buy a pack a cigarettes without having to lie they were for my parents, check. But when I finally, and legitimately, finished walking through Spartacus Leathers just to see what all the hype was about (wink emoji), I eyed Mary’s Topless Bar across the street and … completely chickened out.

I have so many wonderful memories with my “bubbies.” That’s what my mom always called my breasts, “bubbies.” Roll eye emoji, but also, face with hearts emoji. Now that I don’t have my bubbies, I look back and think, you know, I think they had a life of their own. They just kept getting bigger and bolder and heavier and would at times have minds of their own. I’d be lying down and one would be on top of me and the other would be on the side of me watching tv. Kind of like conjoined twins marrying the same man and working the same job, but having completely different hobbies.

I mourn them now. As you would, too. And, I don’t know if you will think this is weird or not, but I made a paper mache mold of them the night before I had my double mastectomy. “An ode to my bubbies,” an honor to have had the pleasure of knowing them. They are greatly missed. Thankful, praying hands emoji.

The decision to have a double mastectomy was the biggest decision of my life and if I haven’t already made it clear, I felt utterly alone, but also thoroughly confused. I had had a “nurse navigator,” which when I learned that I was getting my very own “nurse navigator,” I had been thrilled, but then realized ……… she wouldn’t be helping make decisions, she just scheduled appointments. That was very disappointing. Sad face with a tear emoji. There’s an integral piece missing in the big business of cancer care and it is patient advocacy. I NEEDED someone to sit in my appointments and make sense of it all.

But there was also time. I swear I could hear the clock ticking:
“Make a decision soon,”
“Make it now,”
“What are you doing,”
“You’re wasting time,”
“Precious time,”
“Each second,”
“Your cancer cells are… spreading!!!!,”
“And they are CoMInGfOrYOU.”

At first, I thought about getting a lumpectomy and a breast reduction. I’d always thought that I would get a breast reduction, not because I didn’t love my bubbies, I did, but because my mom had a reduction and she is the ONLY person in our family to not get breast cancer. What if she just cut that cancer gene right out of her? Except she tested later as still having the same gene as me. This will perplex me for the rest of my life. She had had bigger breasts, like me; I was a “DD.” But after her surgery, many years ago, she became a “B.”

Isn’t it weird that we use letters to describe our breasts? It does no justice. Shake head emoji. I remember looking for my first bra with my grandma when I was 11 or 12. She told me that I was a “B.” She just decided, after giving me a full up-down, “Yep, definitely a ‘B’.” Then, I grew up to be a “C.” And then I was a “D.” And then I was a “DD.” But breasts deserve more. Let me say, instead, that my breasts were a “DD,” fine, that’s true, but they were also dense, yet soft, not perky and when I lifted them in my hands, they were full and voluptuous with big aeriolas that were dark and round, oh, perfectly round, and thick hard nipples that were so sensitive; my breasts were always sensitive, like me; Tender, plump, and ample.

My mother is also so goddam proud of her breast reduction, being a “B.” My god, that woman loves showing them off. She had joined my appointment with the surgeon to discuss surgical options, and while I was flushed with fear and indecision, my mother said, out of nowhere, “Doctor, I’ve never had breast cancer, do you want to see my breasts?” Shocked face emoji and red-face emoji and throw-up face emoji. The doctor, and I were both were mortified. So, see why I still felt alone?! I didn’t know to take notes, I wish I had. From what I remember, my options were:

1. lumpectomy and radiation
2. lumpectomy and breast reduction
3. Single (unilateral) mastectomy
4. Double (bilateral) mastectomy
   All of the options were to include 5 years of endocrine therapy – Tamaxafin

The nurse navigator said most people chose the lumpectomy with radiation. I had a consultation with a plastic surgeon and he told me that radiation damages your tissues. So, if I got radiation without surgery, I wouldn’t be able to have surgery later. He informed me that as a breast cancer patient, I would be able to do reconstruction at any time for the rest of my life. But if I got radiation, I wouldn’t be able to. I know now that this not entirely true.

What’s true is that if I had had radiation, it would require more healing and different strategies of surgery later on. It would also leave a a scar, a red rectangle on the breast that had cancer, which was my left breast. Leftie, I called her.

I considered a lumpectomy with a breast reduction. But then the surgeon said that if it was his wife or daughter, he would recommend a bilateral mastectomy to just get the whole ordeal over with. That gave me the impression that a bilateral mastectomy meant that the cancer would never come back.

Well, of course, having the gene, I wanted to go the most aggressive route; A bilateral mastectomy it was. Even though I’d have two scars, I never wanted to have to go through this again. And better than a breast reduction, I would get new, perky breasts, to boot; Possibly a “B,” yeah probably a “B.”