If you’re my friend on Facebook you may have already seen this story. Last weekend I was at a concert at the local fair and talking to someone about breast cancer and what I’ve been through this year. It was an interesting conversation, her mom had breast cancer many years ago and it was interesting to hear how things have changed over the years.
This beautiful women looked at me at one point in the conversation and said “You should feel very lucky that your husband can still find you attractive after your surgery. You’re very fortunate he hasn’t left you.”
Wow. What do you say to that?
Now, I will say that Jon would have a million reasons to leave me, with or without titanium boobs. I’m not easy to live with, not even close. Maybe that’s why he lets me leave home so often! 
I’m a trainwreck, overly ambitious, strong willed, stubborn, and aggressive. But to desire me, or not, because of my surgery?
Anyway, I was floored. So what were my choices, to not have surgery because I may no longer be sexy to men (if I ever was) and wait for cancer?
It did get me thinking about it, and about my body on an intimate level. I still kind of ignore my chest since the surgery, it’s still hard for me to look at. So if it’s hard for me to look at, it makes sense that it would be hard for a man to look at me and feel anything other than curiosity. My blogging friends stay away from the talks of what we go through after this surgery as far as intimacy goes, but maybe that’s not a good idea. Maybe we need to talk about it. Maybe someone reading this feels exactly like the woman at the concert.
Let me address the comment first of all. I would like to think that I wouldn’t be married to someone that would find me unattractive in my current state. I like to think that my brain, courage, and fire would be the real reason for a man to be attracted to me, not because of my breasts. And if Jon married me for my boobs in the first place that would be stupid, they weren’t amazing to begin with. But I still miss them.
Anyway, I agree that if a man is sensitive to medical procedures he may be turned off by the scars and recovery process. If a man is extremely worried about the beauty of his wife I can see that he may be freaked out by a nipple-less woman. But to fall out of love with her?
I know I’m arguing both sides of the arguement when I say this, but if I were single and having to face dating I would be terrified by my new body. Exposing my new body on that level would take incredible amounts of trust, putting my heart right there on the line, and right or wrong I would be waiting to see if my new lover would turn away in disgust, become pre-occupied in the unusual parts of me, or touch me with love and passion. And the moments it would take to find out the answer would be breathtaking and terrifying. I can’t imagine an intimate moment where I would feel more exposed or frightened.
I’m not crazy, I do see the irony in what I just said since I have videos of my body exposed on the internet. But a video explaining medical procedures to ease the fears of others is very different from exposing your body in a moment of intimate sharing.
My ‘beauty’ is not in my breasts! It never was! What makes me the woman I am has nothing to do with what is in my shirt. We are all powerful and wonderful because of what is inside of us, not because of what a man touches. And the most intimate and loving touches are the soft caresses on our souls and hearts, not our breasts. It’s far more intimate to fall asleep close together holding hands than having your breast touched, at least in my mind. And I have never thought I would be less of a woman because I have Frankenstein scars and hard breasts.
Frankly, I think I am more of a woman now.
Please, for those of you going through this, please don’t place the value of yourself as a woman in your lost breasts. You are amazing, no matter the scars and the natural fears. You have a fire within you that burns to be alive, and that radiates throughout your body and shows the world that you are amazing with or without those scars.
