I cannot really put into words the grief that I felt when I got the call from the surgeon telling me I had to have a mastectomy. Chemo was doing nothing, and the surgeon decided he wanted the tumor out in two days. Now, it is one thing to know the date for something and mentally prepare yourself; it is another to have someone spring a mastectomy on you. I tried to think to myself, "Okay, whatever, it's a boob. It sucks but hey, it's not my arm right?" but I wasn't ready. It felt like I was burying my youth.
It took about a month to get used to my body post surgery. There is no preparing for how much of our sexuality we have tied to our breasts. At first I cried a lot and didn't want Adam to see me naked. I couldn't even imagine sex—even though I wanted and needed it. I felt self-conscious; I kept thinking, what if he's turned off? What if he can't have sex with me because I'm unattractive? I think at that point I wouldn't have been able to endure rejection or the idea of him not being able to get aroused at the sight of my missing breast. My best friend bodily dragged me out of the house to Nordstrom's where I was fitted for a prosthesis. It was her gift to me, a new fake boob. I will be eternally grateful.
After I had a fake breast, things got a lot easier. I learned that dressing up in the bedroom was the only way I felt comfortable having sex. I had to pretend that I was whole again. I wore a long, dark movie-star wig, a barely-there skirt and a button-down top (fake breast included) the first time we had sex post chemo and mastectomy. I looked like a hot catholic schoolgirl and pretty much mauled Adam the second he got out of the shower. The role-playing helped a lot with the uncomfortable parts.
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Written by Tracey Carpenter for YourTango.com.
