|What is my age:||62|
If you find a cool artifact, you want it in situ so you can get the most information about it. I usually just tuck the band under the bottom elastic of my sports bra so it feels more secure. Then they called to say I have cancer, but the best kind.
That the uncertainty of how long it takes me to really heal is what scares me the most? Then a biopsy.
Dressing to flatter your ftm body type
It was pretty hard to look at. But what about my mental health? Another thing I was very aware of was how I had to tug at the shoulder straps after lifting weights or rowing, you know, to hoist them back up. And it seemed really, really wrong. The most awful part right now are the drains.
After that, well, I can pretty much do whatever I want. During my consultation with Dr. Emily Albright, I asked if she could save my nipples and maybe give me a male chest. Well, she does. I took off the pink bra thing yesterday. I am incredibly loyal to my bar — after all, it helped me through my 20s and 30s. Did I also mention that my surgeon just happens to go to my gym and take the same class I do?
I tried to make boob imprints in the snow, but it was too old and hard. Two friends stood by the door to stop any patrons from entering and getting an eyeful. The WHOLE surgery team was made of women, so that made me feel super awesome right until the moment they knocked me out. It can shrink your breast, burn it, or, in very rare cases, go into your lungs, heart or ribs.
I tried to imagine taking off my shirt to see a male chest in my mirror on my body. Two friends warned the nearby tables of what was about to happen. Kind of.
I have a vagina. i’m not a woman. and i’m totally cool with it.
I have two very long scars with crusty blood and steri-strips covering the length of them. We took some photos of them with a nice landscape in the background and of one of them trying to take in their last or maybe first glimpse of sunlight. It has a nuclear grade of 2 out of 3. No thanks.
It went like this: One very tall and broad friend held up a black blanket to block the view of the large table behind us. My biological mother had breast cancer when she was 32 and my biological grandma when she was Some call it precancer. Why am I choosing a mastectomy when I could keep my boob? Then, my brain was like … stop.
I was worried that a man doctor might not understand my choices and would try to convince me to save them. They are demystified when you have your own to touch and look at whenever you want. I am a woman because I am a woman. When they called with my diagnosis, I knew exactly what I was going to do. The most annoying pain is caused by the drains on both sides of my chest. I wanted to make their last days attached to my body fun for them, not all doom and gloom. Did I mention what the girls did for the last time today? Then another. My surgeon is a woman, which makes me feel infinitely better about all of this.
It was a long day at the hospital for everyone except me since I got to sleep through most of it.
So, I used my hand to reach for where a breast should be, to test my emotions. Just cut them off and leave the scars. I wonder, though, this morning when we were running, rowing and lifting, did she look across the room and feel sorry for me? Today my boobs worked out in the same room as the woman who will cut them off in nine days.
I get to wear this cute, pink bra thing. Well, I did that, but my arms never touched my chest. Usually one heavy duty sports bra is enough for rugby, and regular bras off the rack seem to fit just fine. I promised them a farewell tour of some of their favorite things to do. It was only seven days ago that I met with my surgeon and decided the fate of my breasts. Two friends ed me in a perfect photo.
Last night, the girls had their last happy hour. You see, when I met my biological mom 20 years ago and she told me about her history of breast cancer, I set my mind to survival.
When my hand got to where it should have felt something, and I kept moving it closer to my body, well, it just felt like my hand fell into a black hole. Besides rugby and working out, going to one of the local bars is what I do for self-care.
Diagnosed with breast cancer in earlyChristina Holzhauser recalls her personal journey preparing for a double mastectomy.
Ellie and nele: from she to he - and back to she again
Last night I was holding a mug. They are sore. My options for treatment are a lumpectomy with radiation or a mastectomy. I am not a woman because I have them.
I like my workout class, except for one thing: the stupid heart rate monitor I have to wear around my sternum. Am I in pain? But there are moments of strangeness. In comparison to the way cis-men seem to lose their minds over them, I am not like that at all.
The next big step will be taking off the bra and bandages to really have a look inside. Of course, boobs do not a woman make.
They went to the gym. There were times I did this with a laugh and other times with tears in my eyes. My chest feels tight and my muscles sore, but it just feels like the soreness after working out super hard.
Three weeks ago, I had a mammogram. Because radiation treatment is a daily thing for up to six weeks. I stared at my cleavage and saw how awkwardly my sports bra was fitting.
I halted that conversation with her and was like, no, not really, sorry. I feel great, actually. After a few days of feeling really sad for myself, I decided to try to make this fun, or at least not awful. My cancer is only in one breast, so why get rid of both of them?
I walked a few blocks downtown and then came home to sit some more.
So today we went on a hike. Two days ago, I left the house with my partner. And breasted people, you know how you bring your arms in and hold mugs to your breast? And, not surprisingly, it was very, very cold and uncomfortable.