Oh yes, I am going there.
There is a pretty rad and long scar down the center of my cleavage. Let's get real. I know my breast cancer warriors out there are feeling me. I am pumping my fist like I am at a rave in the 90s with heavy bass right now. Let's go. Let's talk about it. The Ta-Ta's. The Grrrrls. The Cleave. Tits. Breastages.
My absolute favorite pre-op comment came the day before the surgery from Brit sass Laura who reacted to my very intentional pre photo stating simply: cracking tit shot! I agree thank you. I am a woman who is (was?) blessed in this area. And we're here to talk about today if this is past statement or a present day statement. Am I still blessed on top?
I can imagine the breast cancer survivor and other surgical veteran friends and family have dealt - and dealing with - far far more difficult infractions on their bodies, minds and souls. So on my best days, I look at this new friend on me as a rad momento, compared to the journeys of others. And on the other days this is how my mind unfolds...
Post-op, my husband has told me it really isn't too bad. Some agreement. I have heard a lot this (scar) will fade to white. Fine. Fine. Fine. Right now, turning a little bit more pink/red than what was in this post op pic. Lots o remedies on topical ointments and creams to start slathering to get it to fade faster. Ok. Ok. Ok. In the mean time, Scar-ie and I are looking at each other day by day. This bitch goes from peaking out the top of my shirts to the bottom of my cleave. So it is far from a full "zipper." (Full Zipper = Neck to belly button.) No staples. Just was glued together. (When Julie Robert's said in the latest September InStyle she holds her life together with a little spit and glue, I can now relate.) The cherry on top, is the chest tube scar no one bothered to mention to me, is one inch below where the cleave scar ends.
I have not changed my wardrobe to cover it up. I've seen folks looking between the open buttons of my blouses to little kids fully staring. Mainly adult's eyes flutter down and this look up reassuring or bashfully because they realize they are being watched just as much as they are watching me. It is completely natural to be distracted by something that does not appear to be correct in your habitat. I have no blame or shame or shade for any lookers, glancers or starers. It used to be tho, they stared b/c my tits and/or cleavage were magical magnets of sudection. Yes they were.
Previously, I kept them covered the vast majority of the time. This new ditty is just popping out. I asked the hubs (husband) what he thought. In classic form, without missing a beat, he shot back that I need to say: what are you lookin' at? Eyes up! (In a semi-DeNiro inflection of tone or semi-Pacino Midnight Cowboy tone a la, hey I'm walking' here! ) He is right. Granted I am guilty participant of this new oversharing culture. This blog is evidence numero uno. But this is slightly differebt as its eyes on, face to face, right. So, no show here, keep walking.
My lingering hanging Chad comes from easing back into wearing undergarments, Over the shoulder bolder holders, brazier (sp?), aka Bras. The rib cage in front, directly under the left tit, feels like we have some nerve damage or nerve pinch or muscle tear. Of course this is exactly where the bra hugs the girlfriends. 40+ = you do not go without proper support because your two kids already sucked the life out of said tissue masses. I imagine you can easily look like a National geographic feature quickly if you shrug at proper support at this stage of life. Cami's "shelf bra" has never been suficent support but I've certainly tried it lately. Doesn't do much or even Comanodo to relieve the issue.
So, what's this crunchy gal gonna do? Started with an acupuncturist as Dr's just shrug and say they don't know what it is or how to help. Just part of the healing process. On one hand i say, my ass; that is a non answer. On the other, i take this as there had to be some type of jab at me consciously, to remind me I had open heart surgery 7 weeks ago. Lest I get too comfortable. Return to normality too quick. No no no. Don't do that, damnit.
Alrighty then. I think I've exhausted this topic. Ta Ta for now!
