Bigger Than a Bread Box

Hey Aunt Phyllis–I visited your hair yesterday! I was back at the boutique, only this time my mission was to find a prosthesis. Along with the fake boob I needed a special bra, with a special little pocket to hold my special new friend. Two bras were approved by Dr Schmidt for immediate post-mastectomy use. The 1st one had about 6 hooks in the back & 6 hooks in the front–in case you can’t reach the back. It comes in beige only and is bigger than a bread box. It may even be bigger than a bread truck. I didn’t even try that one on. The 2nd one only had hooks in the back. It came in the exotic color choices of black or white & was not quite as big as a bread box. I did try this one. The granny style cup molded my real boob into the approximate shape of a can of frozen concentrated orange juice. Need I even state that this was NOT acceptable? Furthermore, it was so big that it peeked out the top of my not terribly low plunging shirt and said, “Howdy! I’m Aunt Bea’s underwear!”

Andrea, the boutique manager, is a little younger than me. She could feel my pain and brought me a bra that was not on the approved list, but was more along the lines of Victoria’s Secret, instead of Obviously Octogenarian. This one comes in a variety of colors including black and leopard. I tried it on. Finally! I actually felt like myself. Andrea even ran over to Dr Schmidt’s & got Tana’s approval. In the meantime, Hubster was on the phone with the Insurance Nazis trying to figure out if they would cover the new boob. They informed him that they might, provided that we send them a letter of medical necessity, treatment history, etc. It would take 2 weeks for them to decide whether of not to cover it.

Does anyone besides me get tired of having to beg their freakin’ insurance company to do their job?! How ridiculous is it that after they’ve paid tens of thousands of dollars for all my treatment, they conveniently don’t have the information necessary to decide that I deserve a prosthesis? That’s right, Giant Insurance Goliath…this whole mastectomy thing was all part of a big plot to get a free fake boob because they’re just so stinkin’ cool! Fake boobs are the new black you know–everybody’s getting one! Why just the other day my girlfriends and I were just discussing how lucky I was to have an 8-1/2″ incision across my chest, because I was that much closer to attaining my goal of defrauding the insurance company of the price of a spiffy synthetic detachable substitute breast! GRRR!

In the end, I got the prosthesis and bra. Paid for them myself. The new boob looks like what would result if the Cabbage Patch doll factory made B-2 stealth bombers on a B-cup size scale. Maybe I should check the package & see if it came with a birth certificate & name.
The highlight of the day was having my drains removed. Okay, the actual process was not the highlight. But being free of them is wonderful. The bummer of the day was finding out that upon further testing the pathologist did find a speck of cancer in the node. That pretty much guarantees the radiation I was hoping to avoid. Dr Birhiray said that as little as there was, it’s not likely that it’s gone any further–which is the major concern here.

Have I mentioned that I love Dr B? (Okay, maybe the t-shirt was a clue)He’s a very busy man, but you never ever feel rushed when you see him. He will answer as many questions as you can think of. You’ll never hear me gripe about how long the wait is to see him. In fact, I expect him to be running behind, and I just ask, “How far behind is he today?” My visit to the boutique actually occurred during my wait.

Yesterday, Dr B said, “I think I know you well enough to say that you seem down.” He was right. I had been deflated by the news that the node wasn’t clean. I’m very thankful that I have people like Dr B as part of my medical team. They’re all excellent, caring people I’m very blessed to have them along on this journey.

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