To Booby or Not To Booby?

A friend of mine had a breast reduction a few years ago and I was invited over for dinner the evening before her surgery. While she was very committed to ending years of back pain and eliminating those pesky divots on her shoulders from her bra straps, her mom and aunt were lamenting her rejection of The Family Birthright – big boobs. My friend, M, had been trying to convey to the family her desire for cute perky breasts for several months now but nobody was having any of it. Her husband was resigned to it and supported her decision even though he loved her just the way she was. Mind you he loved her just the way she became after the surgery too. That is what great husbands are for. I was caught in the middle of this discussion during dinner with each corner pleading their case. Now I was and still am in no way qualified to state an opinion either way as I possess an A cup. Barely.

I have had very mixed emotions about my chest size in the early years mostly due to outside influence and opinion. Being a late bloomer I was badly bullied in the girl’s locker room over my lack of cuppage. I began to believe that if only I could sprout some tatas everything in my life would be perfect and those slutty bitches would finally leave me the fuck alone. Of course I now know that if I had big boobs I would have been harassed and if I had that magical unknown perfect sized rack they would have found something else to molest me about. Such is adolescence and the shittiness of young girls. But it did suck at the time. As my high school friends gained attention from boys and I was relegated to Purse Watcher at all social events I again blamed my lack of chest. However, I soon learned that boys were only interested in breasts and getting as close to them as possible and that realization was distressing to any girl who just wanted to be loved for who they were INSIDE. So I was spared that trauma altogether.

Yet as I went forward and dated and dumped my share of guys and was dumped in return I realized that any boobies are good boobies for young men/old men/good men/bad men. I had no complaints and life went on. I learned to accept and appreciate my tiny breasts and suffered Cup Envy on only a few occasions.

Then I became smug as friends breastfed children and fun sacks became tools of the motherhood trade. And then sagged. Letters like DDD and EEE and F, G and H started creeping into hushed conversation. All of a sudden I realized that while my A Cups were not bodacious or voluptuous they were located exactly where they were a decade ago. I revelled in the fact that I always knew where I could find them whether I was laying down or bent over. My Boobs were up front and perky. HAHAHAHAHAH!!! Vilified at last! Redemption!

Bras got better and my silhouette improved and everything was fabulous. I admit to a slight blip in my confidence when implants became all the rage. But they looked so unnatural and weird and who would like them? Well, plenty of men do and I don’t quite know why. And then I hugged a woman who had them and they felt like two rocks digging into my torso and I was secure again.

That night before M’s surgery, after dinner, we ladies retired to the living room for more mammary chat. M, in an act of desperation, flashed us her soon to be reduced tits trying to explain why she was dissatisfied about her chest. She wanted PERKY, DAMMIT! Her mother responded by flashing her own grand assets, and was quickly followed by her sister who also possessed the family traits. Both were proud and unrepentant. These were the Family Jewels and you DID NOT mess with Mother Nature. M begged me to show mine for a little contrast. You know, provoke some discussion. So I did. And they aaaaaahhhhed. Suddenly they saw what it was like for those on the other side of the spectrum and it was good. There were benefits to be had. M got the support she needed from the family and never looked back.

So here I am about 5 years later facing further meddling with my breasts. It looks to be a very definite probability that I will need a right side mastectomy in the near future. Additionally they found in-situ cancer in my pathology, which indicates that I have about a 25-30% chance of getting cancer in my left breast at some point in the future. I have read of women who chose to have both breasts removed to eliminate any risk. Initially, I thought that was overkill and with good doctor care and vigilance on my part I surely could catch anything new that might come up. But things have changed. My cancer is bad enough that it has spread to the lymph nodes and I now need chemo. This is after having several tests clearly stating there was no cancer at all. My cancer seems to be sneaky! As you can imagine my confidence that I could head off anything that may occur on my left side is severely shaken. I may be faced with that choice of removing both boobies and it is no longer a wayyy-out-there decision like I thought. It kinda makes sense now. I have to say this is not necessarily as horrible as it seems because breast reconstructive surgery is ABSOLUTLEY FUCKING AMAZING! I cannot believe how great it looks. And who am I to turn down free fabulous cosmetic surgery?


So the question remains; if I have to get a radical mastectomy and immediate reconstruction should I stick with A Cuppage or go for a groovy Full B and walk on the wild side? Keep in mind here I am trying to find some good out of this clusterfuck. I am getting pretty grabby over any benefits offered to me. What are your thoughts?