Wasted on Me...

So, for the first time since maybe February or March, I just googled breast reconstruction photos. Does that tell you how uninterested I was in this whole process? I can envision women poring over pictures, bringing them into the office, checking themselves out in the mirror, knowing EXACTLY what they want to look like, and excited to get their New Boobs. SO not me.

I didn't even care about my future size, or give ANY input into that process, either, except to say I was happy with whatever he thought would look best. After all, he's a PLASTIC SURGEON. His job is to reconstruct things to make them look good. Isn't a professional at looking good better at making that decision than a girl who tries not to look at the mirror at herself (even before breast cancer)?

I didn't even ASK the size, until my follow-up appointment today, and only because I thought I should know in case a future breast cancer survivor wants to know. It's a bit bigger than I expected, but again - I wanted him to make the decision, and I am happy that he did. Let the expert do what he does, and I will do what I do best (and that is not care about my breast size).

Anyway, today I looked up some reconstruction photos to gauge how I feel about nipple reconstruction. After I looked up some pictures, I have this to say - I am extremely glad I did not become a plastic surgeon dealing with breast reconstruction. I can appreciate why a surgeon would enjoy being a plastic surgeon - I saw mine taking pride in his work, thinking through the problems ahead, remembering how he pulled it off, embracing the challenges, mixing science with art... I just don't think I would feel like helping people who really cared a lot about what their breasts look like. It seems totally inane to me to care about breast appearance at all.

Yes, I liked my saggy little guys, but they had been so USEFUL...feeding kids and making milk for almost 4 years. I felt a little bond with them when they went so above and beyond the call of duty in that way. But aside from that, why care about breasts at all? (Don't tell me, I don't want to know, call me repressed but I don't work that way.) Moreover, how can any woman be consumed with the idea that hers aren't good enough and she needs to surgically alter them? Now, this is after a year with breast cancer...I would guess that I am even more detached than I would have been before breast cancer, but STILL.

I would say there are a lucky few people who have "perfect breasts", and they probably only have those "perfect breasts" for about 12 years (maybe age 16-28 or so?). Everyone else has breasts in various stages of disarray, flop, nipples pointing other ways, too big, too small, etc. It seems so weird to clamor for something that almost no one ever gets.

Anyway, here I am...with what will probably be nicer-looking things on my chest than I would have ever desired. Could there be a less appreciative girl on the planet for these "perfect breasts" though? I doubt it!

(I do have to say that even if I don't feel like I need such a nice chest, I am VERY APPRECIATIVE of my surgeon and his staff for the great care they took of me, for the conversations, and for really doing their very best. But, I did choose my surgeon because he is such a lovely person...in addition to being an great surgeon!)