We’ve been offered a seaside holiday by the fabulous charity, Something to Look Forward To. I dress in a rush, distracted by packing. I realise when we arrive that I have forgotten my prosthesis, and hope nobody notices.
Swimming without it is easier, though. The last time I swam, it floated free of my costume three times; luckily, my husband alerted me! At the spa with my sister, we tried squeezing it into the ridiculously small pocket of an adapted costume.
These light-hearted episodes are a far cry from the months preparing for the loss of a body part.
I had to wean my daughter from night feeds to start chemo. This meant listening to her cry downstairs, while upstairs my breasts filled with milk to be pumped and dumped, as my body slowly adjusted after five years being pregnant or breastfeeding.
People said she was too old for milk anyway, and I should conserve energy. They didn’t understand. Breastfeeding was something I was actually good at.
The funny thing is, you almost forget the horrible things you have been through. The surgery, the recovery, the drain, the insomnia. The moments too painful to blog about.
You almost forget.
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 