It’s a Ewwwww-phamism

Being over 40 years old, a one-and-done mom at age 39 and an on-again-off-again runner has taken its toll on the ladies who stare disconsolately at the floor with downcast eyes. This Mother’s Day is going to be special; gifted with a breast augmentation, or more commonly referred to as a “Boob Job”. But because I’ve had breast cancer, the fun kind that required a mastectomy, my brand-spankin’ new boobs are euphemistically called “Reconstructive Surgery”. But let’s face it; a boob job by any other name have headlights that still shine as bright.

There is one difference, however, between a traditional boob job and reconstruction. In a word: EXPANDER. I’ve had the pleasure of expanding for 170 days or 4080 hours or 244,800 minutes… but who’s counting.


Once the mastectomy is healed, the skin expansion begins until you feel whole again; at which time the above image get replaced with soft, squishy, cuddly implants. Slowly and during multiple visits, the nurse (see earlier blog for more details) fill the expanders with saline until you say “when”. Keep in mind that one person’s whole is another person’s overflow. Whatever cup you choose from whence to drink: coffee, tea, mug or stein; it will be filled to the brim to give the surgeon a little extra working room.

Prior to surgery, I was a 32B. By this I mean that some of me was a 32B. The “some” that filled the bottom of my stretched out tube socks. That part was pretty close to a B; but the rest? Let’s just say… less than a B. As I watched, during each visit, Vince filled the expander a little more until Lefty was large and in charge, my cup runneth over. Way, way over.

While that doesn’t sound too egregious in theory, let’s revisit the expander. This is pretty much what it feels like.

what they feel like

So now, I am fully erect…. No wait… expanded and ready for the reconstruction. Although the idea of going under the knife again sounds less than appealing, I know that in less than a week I’ll (1) have brand new, face forward girls; (2) never have to wear a bra again; (3) get rid of the stepping stone burrowed in my arm pit; and (4) get to celebrate two birthdays for which there will be presents.

squeaky toy


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