I recently learned that Angelina Jolie and I have something in common. Unfortunately, not her lips, high cheekbones or mysterious eyes—any of those would have been great! It was her boobs.
In 2009, at the age of 28, I tested positive for the breast cancer gene, BRCA1. In this case, positive actually means negative. This was not a huge surprise. I was only nine when my mother lost her battle to breast cancer at the all-too-young age of 42. Her older sister was also diagnosed with breast cancer years later; she fought and won, only to be hit with ovarian cancer in her 50’s, which ended her life. My now-healthy cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 35. It was at that point that my family learned about genetic testing.
Despite my family history, I resisted taking the blood test for six years. At the time of my cousin's diagnosis, I was 23 and assumed I was invincible. I felt strongly that living with the knowledge of being predisposed to cancer would be like living under a dark cloud. But as the years passed I realized that living with the unknown felt like being stuck in a storm with no way out. If I had the gene, not taking the test wasn’t going to make it disappear, but finding out gave me an opportunity that the other women in my family didn’t have. I finally decided to confirm what I already knew deep down. Everyone has always told me I’m my mother’s daughter—and this was no exception.
If you’re diagnosed with the BRCA mutation, you can look at the situation two different ways: You can go with the “poor me” attitude, and I’ve definitely had moments, no hours… okay, actually weeks where I felt very sorry for myself. It’s really hard to learn what you’re genetically predisposed to. But overall I feel blessed. I had the rare opportunity to fight back before the cancer could even begin; to give cancer the big double finger. If my mother would have had this opportunity, I know she’d still be alive.
I took the test knowing if I had the gene, my boobs would have to go. I’d seen firsthand how harsh the treatment of cancer can be on everyone involved and I wanted none of that for my family, including my amazing husband, Rob. I’d also done research and learned that if you’ve got one of the two BRCA mutations, even if you catch the cancer early, they pretty much throw the book at you. The mutation actually inhibits your body from fighting off cancer in that area so the treatment prescribed will be extra aggressive. Sometimes your body will even build up immunity to chemotherapy. With all of this considered, the decision was easy. At the age of 31, I underwent a preventative double mastectomy.
The difficult questions were: Which procedure should I go with? How do I want my breasts reconstructed? Which doctor to choose? Will I keep the nipples? Those questions kept me up at night. Because if you’re going to lose something you love (I had great real boobs by the way—the perfect handfuls big enough to show some cleavage but small enough to stay perky without a bra), you want to replace them with something fabulous. And reconstruction is not like an ordinary boob job; it’s much more complicated.
Implants typically go under soft and squishy breast tissue. In my case, the doctors would remove that tissue, so in certain positions or if I’m dehydrated, there can be some rippling. I was lucky enough to stumble across an amazing group of women who had been in my shoes and paved the way. One of them even met me in a Starbucks where we not so discreetly ducked into the women’s bathroom so she could show me her new, reconstructed boobs. This helped me to realize that the results could be pretty great.
Leading up to my double mastectomy, I wanted to document what I was born with. So, yes, I had a boudoir photo shoot. Ladies, everyone should do this regardless of the breast cancer gene. Let’s capture these young sexy bodies while we can! I’d planned three different outfit changes, but my favorites ended up being just me in sexy underwear. The only thing not fun about the entire experience was my photographer turned on the air conditioning in February (I live in Seattle). We had to make sure the girls looked their best for their first and final debut. I’m so glad I did this. I now have something I will be able to look back on forever that will remind me of what the real ones looked like.
Here I am getting ready for battle at one of the more clothed shots from my boudoir session with photographer Sara Tro.
The Saturday night before my big surgery, five of my closest girlfriends got together and threw a final farewell to my breasts at a bar in Seattle. It was a world class “Ta Ta to the Tatas” cocktail party. Our signature drink was a special “Ta-Ta-tini” complete with two boob-resembling olives. A local food truck called The Box made an appearance. There also was an extremely lifelike boob cake, which was awesome.
A friend who is a designer even made me a logo that was printed on bra-shaped cookies.
It was strongly suggested to all the women to dig into that section of their closet that is labeled “Vegas only” and show as much cleavage as possible. It was a celebration of boobs! I’ll look back on that night for years to come as a powerful kickoff. It was a night surrounded by so many important people from all stages of my life. It gave me the strength and courage to take my health into my own hands and reclaim some control for the women in my family. The best part of the night was that my friends rallied together to donate money to this cause—we raised over $7,000 for cancer research.
Rob and I slicing my boob cake...
Then came surgery, which was not fun, but honestly, it wasn’t as bad as the horror stories I'd read online (don’t do that). From what I’ve been told, I came out of the operation room giving my husband high fives and telling my sister that the morphine button was like an On-Demand orgasm. The pain was pretty strong the first 48 hours, but there are drugs for that. My poor husband had to pull my undies down for me so I could go to the bathroom because I couldn’t move my arms. I guess this is where the “in sickness and in health” wedding vow comes in. I’m pretty sure, however, he thought he’d escaped this by marrying a woman who was eight years younger. (Kudos to my husband Rob for his incredible support!) My doctors recommend that I take four weeks off work. This recommendation was a bit extreme. I’m proud to say that on my four-week anniversary, I went for a six mile (very uphill) hike.
What became of my once-perfect natural boobs? With implant reconstruction, you don’t get to choose your size. Once I was fully expanded, my doctor ordered five (yes five!) different size implants for me. While I was under, she test-drove them all. As in, she literally put the boobs inside, sat me up like a puppet to see how they looked, and chose one. Even though I begged and pleaded with her to go with the smallest size, I ended up with the second largest. They apparently looked the best and had the least amount of rippling. I chose to keep my nipples. This does give me a slightly higher chance of getting cancer but having something that feels like me was totally worth the 1 percent escalated risk. I have to admit, they look pretty good!
I never wanted fake boobs, but now I'm learning to live with them. Because there’s nothing between my skin and the implants, at times (especially under bright lights) you can see the actual movement of the silicon. My therapist advised not to stand under bright lights when inspecting my breasts in the mirror. Probably a good idea. I do have tissue from a cadaver on the bottom part of my breasts. Cadaver tissue = tissue from a dead person. Kind of creepy but science fascinates me, so I’m actually okay with it. I also have lost all sensation on both breasts, including my nipples. This part is proving to be the most difficult to get used to. I can feel pressure but nothing else. Strangely enough, they still act the same in cold weather or when I’m aroused. The worst part about the whole sensation thing is I get phantom itches. I’ll get the itch, but I can only scratch it mentally. Also, I just realized a few months ago that the implants never warm up to my body temperature. I guess that makes sense considering there’s no breast tissue to warm it up.
It’s been a year of ups and downs since I said goodbye to my breasts, as I've written about on my blog, Ta Ta to Tatas. Early on in this process, a great friend and mentor told me this whole experience would be “a mountain like no other, a climb like no other.” What I know now is that it’s proving to be “ a view like no other,” too. I will never again have to get a mammogram. Mammograms weren’t that bad, just sort of annoying. I get way more head turns in a cocktail dress or bikini then ever! My husband loved my old body but I think he’s pretty fond of this new one as well. Bras will forever be optional! Most importantly, I’m on my way to never worrying about cancer again. Like Angelina, I’ve taken my chances of getting breast cancer from 87 percent down to 5 pecent. I plan on starting a family soon and before now, my biggest fear was being diagnosed while I was pregnant. I’m only three years younger then my cousin was when she found out she had breast cancer. I do plan on getting my ovaries out once I’m done having kids, but that’s a whole different topic. I had 31 years with my old body and loved it. I’m still on year one with this new one. I don’t love it yet—but I’m confident I’ll get there.
Photo Credit: Lisa Loop; Sara Tro
From Cosmopolitan.com. Visit Handbags reviews and advice for best reference here
Korin Miller
Michelle Ruiz
Dara Adeeyo
Elisa Benson