These boobs were made for poking

Wait, that’s not how the song goes. But I want to talk about boobs so…

Let me tell you the story of living with my small boobs first, then I can talk about these new ones I’m just getting used to. Mine were tiny – there’s a reason I used to call them berries – and I didn’t always love and accept them. Hey, we were all teenagers once, right? Growing up is tough no matter how well you compare to everybody else’s growth rate. But having some body parts grow slower at a time when no other parts seem to matter? That’s a serious strain on a teenager’s malleable mind.

Living with small boobs

Mosquito Bites & Co.

The truth is, my flat chest did not bother me too much back in my teens. It did bother me some but never to the extent that I would consider surgery. I guess, kudos to my parents for raising both my sister and me to accept our bodies. I do remember very clearly that I wished and hoped my boobs would come to their senses and grow to a decent size. Also, as weird as this may sound, living with small breasts definitely made me notice breasts all around me. You guys, there are boobs everywhere! Men will probably understand this very well: the less you have of something, the more you notice it in others.

As much as I wanted to look “normal” and fit in, I wasn’t exactly obsessed with boobs. Nor did I feel less beautiful or worthy of attention. When I think of all the girls and young women who go to extreme measures to gain confidence, again, I am lucky to have never felt that way. Oh, you don’t think I’ve ever had nasty comments hurled at my chest?

The Itty Bitty Titty Committee

Of course, I have. Interestingly, the worst and most public one I remember happened when I was almost 26. In my teens, I definitely heard some hurtful things about not needing a bra or looking like a boy. By the way, even itty bitty titties can hurt like hell during your period, so a bra helps. Also, when your boobs are mostly imaginary, wearing a bra feels like maybe they’re real, okay? And what’s wrong with looking like a boy? Some are cute…

Before I get back to the jarring incident in my 20’s, I’d like to point out that very few of my dates or boyfriends have taken a jab at the size of my breasts. I do have quite a mouth on me, though, so they may have been too intimidated to say anything. Whatever, it’s usually the words we hear that hurt us, not the ones people keep to themselves.

The Incident

Okay, let me start by saying that it did not scar me for life, after all. However, I still remember it very clearly, years later. I was walking down a busy street on a warm spring day, minding my own business and feeling all kinds of wonderful (I was very much in love at the time). I was wearing a simple black tank top and a bra, however unnecessary, underneath so I had no idea my boobies could attract any unwanted attention. But attract it they did! A couple of guys, probably younger than me, walking in the opposite direction, saw me and one of them yelled, for everyone to hear: Hey, why don’t you let somebody rub those? They might actually grow!

I was shocked. Absolutely dumbfounded. Discombobulated. I said nothing at all! And there was no one to say it to, either. Those two dudes just laughed and walked right past me before I could even process what I’d heard. They probably said something similarly awful to another poor stranger by the time I thought of the most obvious reply: Don’t you think I have, mofo? It doesn’t work!

Anyhoo, it took me a couple of days but I got over it. It wasn’t really what he said that got to me the most. It was the fact that he was a total stranger I hadn’t even made eye contact with and still, he felt compelled to comment on my breast size.

Embracing my small-boobed self

Do I have advice on how to get over hearing such hurtful comments about your body or a body part? Not quite yet. I’m afraid I didn’t spend hours thinking about how to heal those wounds. They just did – with time and probably after some more positive experiences. I can’t recall a specific moment or day when I accepted my own body with all of its “imperfections”. That’s because there never was one. What I do know for sure is that I have been OK with my body for many years now. I still want to “look normal” when I’m fully clothed, and maybe that’s a permanent scar that insolent youth left behind. Maybe I’ve been trying to avoid hearing another comment like that from a stranger. But that’s what padded bras are for. And out of the public eye, I was very happy with my bra-half-full berries.

From small boobs to implants

As I said, I never wanted to replace my tiny girls with something more substantial but fake. It’s a personal decision and I don’t judge anyone for choosing to get implants, but I would have been happy to keep living with my small breasts. When my cancer diagnosis rolled around, however, upon hearing a mastectomy with direct reconstruction was possible, I knew I wanted it. My decision might have been different if several surgeries were needed from the start but having everything done in one day made it really easy for me. My plastic surgeon explained that unless I wanted to go a lot bigger, it should be a pretty simple procedure. Needless to say, I did not want to go bigger. Just hearing the word expanders made me nauseous. Also, living with small breasts was already kind of my thing.

My husband, who has been amazingly supportive throughout this whole madness, said that if I wanted to go Dolly Parton, he would not stand in my way. I love Dolly Parton but, bless his heart, nope. We had a good laugh about it, though.

The new normal

I said all I wanted was implants my skin could accommodate, and that’s exactly what I got. There must have been some extra skin because these things are huge! Well, not really but in comparison. They don’t look too appealing just yet, they need some more time to heal. Unlike breast augmentation, reconstruction after a mastectomy comes with some extra fun stuff. Like your old nerves trying to reconnect to something new. It’s weird and painful. No, I’m not in a lot of pain, my recovery has been going really well, actually. But the best way I can describe the sensations in my new, perfectly symmetrical, totally fake breasts is intermittent tightness. It’s like when you’re cold and your nipples get hard… except I’m not cold and they can stay like that for 20 minutes. Painful. And weird.

Another fun thing is, these are not mine. A friend of mine and a fellow breast cancer survivor asked me if I felt like I had foreign objects in my body. To me, it’s an external feeling. They’re not IN my body, they’re attached to it on the outside. And I feel like we need to get acquainted before I can call them mine. For now, I’m calling them melons.

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