Overcoming insecurity in the body: the story of my confidence in the breast

I had a double breast eradication when I was 40 years old in 1997. I was married and had two children under 11 years old.

It seems to cut my breasts when I had no radical cancer, but it was not rooted for me. I have a BRCA1 gene mutation. This means that I have a 60 % chance for ovarian cancer and an 85 % opportunity to get breast cancer – the fatal type that does not respond to treatment. For me, I felt these difficulties like 100 %.

Before the genetic tests were available, my mother had ovarian cancer when she was 62 years old and after a few years, she died. Then two of my cousins got breast cancer before they reached 60 years and both died. Therefore, I got preventive hysterectomy and dual breast removal.

Now I am 64 years old, and I know I made the right decision because I am alive.

Before surgery, I spoke to a few other women who suffer from the breast track. Tell me how to hurt the lifting of their arms after the procedure and how it took months to extend their skin to accommodate the transplants used to make the rebuilt breasts. Nothing of this scares me. I knew that diagnosing cancer, chemotherapy and death was, of course, much worse.

Therefore, surgery and then took my son to his first day of kindergarten after three days with surgical banks hiding under a large shirt.

I did not ask the plastic surgeon how my breasts will take care of the reconstruction. I even thought they would look better, complete, as they did before taking care of two children. I was wrong.

It is not like my implants that many women search and feel sex. A mine, the type you get when the surgeon reduces every part of the breast tissue, under the skin. The skin covers thin and packed implants, and a touch with a touch – a different temperature from the rest of my body.

It turns out that the rebuilding of the breast after removing the root breast is a difficult process. After the initial surgery, surgery was performed six times over the next fifteen years to deal with the pain caused by the tissue of the scar, and also in an attempt to make my breasts look more natural. Three times, plastic surgeons link fake nipples made of leather taken from my pubic area, and they have always fallen within a month of surgery.

My breasts were ugly, and I hated allowing anyone to see her. Even doctors were unable to hide disgust. When I went to a dermatologist once a year to examine skin cancer, I mentioned it about the municipalities of the breast and reconstruction to avoid the slightest change in the expression of his face, as I saw the last time he opened the paper dress.

After the surgery, I closed the door when I was bathing or turned away from my husband when I changed my clothes in front of him. I never asked him if he wanted to see or feel the breast, and he did not ask. I kept my shirt during sex for 12 years of our marriage, and we never talked about it.

After divorce and more reconstructive surgery, my breasts seemed now with tattoo nipples where the meat should have been better, but they were not “normal”. It was very difficult and very cold. When I started getting acquainted, 30 years have passed since I was with a man other than my husband. I was concerned about the intimate relationship, about leaving a man who sees or touching my body over 50 years. But my breasts made me think of not dating again.

When I told the first man that I am dated how he made me out my shirt uncomfortable, he said: “Never have to take off your shirt for me. We will play shirts and leather, as in the small basketball game.”

Mostly, this is what we did for five years.

Three years ago, when I started seeing David, I went to his home for dinner. We were standing in his kitchen talking and sipping our drinks, vodka cranberries for me, and a silent. He looked at me and said: “I am dying to kiss you,” and bent for the kiss. I kissed him again. I felt satisfied. When kissing became more emotional, we moved to the sofa. A few minutes later, I withdrew and put my hands on his chest.