Today marks the two-year anniversary of my prophylactic double mastectomy at 21 years old. Last year I had a lot to say about my one-year anniversary; this year, I’m going to let photos do the talking.
Let these photos–organized in chronological order starting with March 13, 2012 and ending with last night–serve as evidence that my life has been full, happy, and pretty much awesome since my mastectomy. If you’re considering a mastectomy or you’re in the middle of breast reconstruction right now, I hope these photos give you confidence and encouragement for your own journey.
Welcome to the second installment of Rachel Joy Horn’s tried-and-true-and-possibly-resulting-in-a second-dinner-invitation DOs and DON’Ts of dating post-mastectomy. Since writing my first post in November, I am still single. So maybe I have no clue what the hell I’m talking about.
At least I had a really sexy date to the company holiday party…my best friend Jennifer.
Moving on…let’s start with a don’t:
DON’T get into the nitty gritty details of your BRCA mutation, of your surgery, of your breast reconstruction—whatever it is you’re discussing. I’m not encouraging you to avoid it and I’m certainly not asking you to lie, but there are some details you can share, and there are some that you might consider keeping between yourself, your family and your doctors.
If a guy wants to know about my BRCA mutation, I give him a quick overview of how I came to be tested for the mutation. I don’t focus on the exact meaning of a BRCA2 6056delC mutation (which I’d be lying if I said I fully understand), nor do I obsess over the statistics associated with a BRCA mutation. Instead, I try to deliver the details that make the most sense to understanding why I’d elect to have a prophylactic mastectomy.
When it comes to talking about the actual mastectomy surgery, I start with a basic “I replaced the stuffing on my boobs.” I then elaborate with a much more scientifically backed “I took out the potentially bad tissue and replaced it with implants.” (I think that’s what they write in the medical journals, right?) I avoid discussing the thrilling experience of emptying the bloody goo out of my Jackson Pratt drains, the pathetic feeling of not being able to lift myself up out of bed to shuffle to the bathroom, and the crippling fear of “Oh my god, are my nipples going to make it out of this alive?!”
As one might expect, the breast implants are what usually interest guys the most. Often they assume that I could pick any implant size I want, so I politely correct them (read: laugh in their face–hahaha, you dumb fool!) and let them know that there is a sort of science involved with selecting, based on factors such as a woman’s natural breast size and chest width. They then usually want to know if I “upgraded,” so to speak, at which point I say that I wear about the same bra size I did before my mastectomy.
Ooo, implant. Squishy squishy.
Most of my concerns about oversharing stem from not wanting a guy to think I’m fragile or broken in some sort of way. I also worry about encountering queasy types; call me old school, but I wouldn’t want a date to pass out in the middle of appetizers. So instead of getting too detailed, I make an effort to highlight certain information about my surgery:
DO stress the positives. The biggest and most obvious positive is of course the dramatic reduction in breast cancer risk. But in my experience, there have been additional perks (bahaha pun) to the mastectomy and breast reconstruction.
Before my mastectomy, my wardrobe decisions were dictated by an evil overlord known as The Bra. Support was the name of the game, and if an outfit couldn’t be worn with a bra, it wouldn’t be worn at all. I was often forced to pass up halter tops and strapless dresses, or worse: I’d have to decide between chunky bra straps sticking out of a backless dress, or concealing all of it with a sweater. Talk about a Sophie’s Choice. These days, I can wear backless dresses and halter tops like it’s nobody’s business. My wallet sobs, but my wardrobe has never been happier.
Look Ma, no bra straps!
If a guy has a sense of humor, I don’t hesitate to bring up the tummy tuck possibility. Using my mom’s mastectomy and breast reconstruction as an example, I talk about how, if I gain enough weight in the future, I could replace my breast implants with stomach fat. This is definitely a glamorization of a DIEP/TRAM flap procedure, and I don’t mention the arduous recovery process, which I saw firsthand with my mom, but hey—it could be seen as a positive. My mom is living proof of this, what with her new boobs and flat tummy. Where I notice a guy losing interest is when I mention “having fifteen kids and completely letting myself go so I gain enough weight to have big ol’ jugs.” Apparently guys don’t like that? Who knew?
Geez, Mom, put those things away before you take someone’s eye out.
My final perk is, you might have guessed, visiting the Playboy Mansion. (It seems I rely on this topic a lot when dating…thanks, Trisha.) It certainly is a rare experience, and I’ve found that for some odd reason, men have a lot of respect for Hugh Hefner. I’m not sure why. Now unless you’re all holding out on me and you’ve been visiting El Mansion with your glorious implants, too, I’m going to assume that we don’t have that story in common. But that doesn’t mean your mastectomy hasn’t come with any unexpected perks. Were you interviewed by a news station and you’ve achieved a degree of local celebrity? Did you get a kick-ass new tattoo in honor of your surgery? There might be a silver lining to share after all.
Welp, it’s late and I’m tired, so I think I’ll sign off now. Must log into Tinder and remind myself why being single might actually be a good thing. #guysinLA #areallactors #wouldyouliketoseemyheadshot #crazycatlady?
I’m excited to share with you all that on Wednesday, October 16, I will be speaking at UCLA Health Center’s second annual BRA (Breast Reconstruction Awareness) Day.
Last year my mom and I attended BRA Day as guests; it really seems like the folks at UCLA are stepping up their game with this year’s event. My mom and I will both be speaking on the panel, along with Dr. Festekjian and the rest of the UCLA plastic surgery crew, Dr. Chang (my mom’s surgical oncologist), and many other doctors from the oncology department and cancer center. This is a great opportunity for women who are considering their options in terms of mastectomy and breast reconstruction to learn about what’s out there. If you do end up attending, please stop by and say “hi” because I love to meet my blog readers.
Here are the details of the event, from the UCLA website:
UCLA and the Plastic Surgery Foundation will celebrate the second annual Breast Reconstruction Awareness Day on October 16th, 2013. BRA Day USA is a chance to educate breast cancer patients, their friends and families, and women considering prophylactic mastectomies about their options for post mastectomy breast reconstruction.
Hey y’all! Long time no write. Between work, travel, and training for my upcoming Hadrian’s Wall walking holiday in the UK for my mom’s 60th 30th birthday, it’s been a very busy summer.
In July I had the pleasure of spending almost a week in Hawaii on the island of Kauai for a friend’s wedding. Prior to my trip, I embarked on every girl’s worst nightmare: bikini shopping.
Bikini shopping has never been a pleasant experience for me, but it was with an open mind (and a sense of humor) that I headed into Target. I browsed the racks for 15 minutes, and then, armed with eight or so bikinis, made my way to the fitting room.
It was a disaster. Everything about every bikini was dreadful, from the styles to the colors to the awkward hanger marks. I knew I’d have to call in the big guns: Victoria’s Secret.
I’ve been a fan of Victoria’s Secret bikinis for quite a few years, since they are some of the more supportive bikini tops on the market, but coughing up the $75+ for a matching top and bottom set has always been a bit difficult. This time was different, however. With a Hawaiian vacation on the horizon and a new set of boobs to flatter, it was worth the splurge.
I settled on a teal top and bottom bikini set. I was quite pleased with the choice because the top is supportive without being overly padded. I’ve worn the bikini quite a few times since buying it in late June, including at the beach and at the lake, and it’s been great.
The other day I was skulking around Facebook when I saw a picture of my fellow previvor Carly celebrating her birthday in Las Vegas. She looked AMAZING in a light pink bikini. I clicked on the image for further inspection and realized it was the same style bikini top as my teal one from Victoria’s Secret. We exchanged messages about the top and agreed that it’s the perfect bikini top for breast implants.
This realization prompted me to try on all of my other bikini tops, for a comparison of the various styles. My bikini top needs are quite different now that I have breast implants instead of “real boobs.” Before I was concerned with getting adequate support, now I’m concerned more with coverage. I was a bit surprised to see how things fit.
Here are my thoughts on the styles–hopefully they will help other post-mastectomy and post-reconstruction women find the perfect bikini tops:
I wore this bandeau bikini in Hawaii, but it was much better suited for lounging on the beach than swimming.
In high school and college, I always wanted to wear triangle bikini tops but they were never supportive enough for me. At least they work better now!
Too…much…cleavage.
I tried on the mastectomy bikini top my mom made me last year just for kicks. Last summer, my number one bikini concern was finding something that could hold and disguise a waterproof prosthetic.
This bikini top + Rachel = Goldilocks when she finds Baby Bear’s porridge…justttttt right. This is the Victoria’s Secret bikini top Carly and I both bought. I am definitely going to look for more in various colors and patterns. Here’s what it looks like from the side, with the cheeky low rise bottom (side note: Victoria’s Secret, I am totally open to sponsorship =D):
I’m fortunate that there is still at least one month of warm California sunshine to enjoy this summer, so my favorite bikini will be getting a lot of love.
What do other post-reconstruction ladies think of bikinis/bathing suits? Do you have any new favorites?
Update: Just ordered two more, in yellow and paisley. Dad, if you’re reading this…they were on sale. A LOT.
Last night I had a very unusual, albeit humorous encounter with a coworker.
Here is some background on the incident: My company moved offices this week, from our location on Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica to a larger space a few miles away. To help us properly bid farewell to our old home, the company hosted a karaoke party at one of our favorite locales, the King’s Head. There was liquor involved.
In general, most of my coworkers know about my mastectomy and reconstruction. Last year I shared a bit about it during a “Think Pink” party, a fundraiser for a breast cancer charity walk the company sponsored. And a few months ago in a team meeting I gave an instructional presentation about running a blog, which focused on how exactly I run this blog. I made the conscious decision before my mastectomy to tell people about it, coworkers included, and they’ve all been extremely supportive and flexible, for which I am grateful.
When a coworker approached me at the bar yesterday and sheepishly mumbled “I have to tell you something,” I didn’t know what to expect. We do not work together closely, and I don’t know him particularly well, but we had talked the week before at a party, so I assumed it was related to that.
“I saw you on HuffPo Live,” he confessed. I was not expecting to hear that. Two days after Angelina Jolie’s announcement in the New York Times, I participated in a segment on HuffPost Live about my decision to have a prophylactic double mastectomy.
“Were you browsing yourself or did you see a tweet about it?” I asked.
“No, I go on the Huffington Post all the time. I saw something about Angelina Jolie and then clicked and said…’Whoa! I know her!’ and it was you!”
And now for the kicker:
“I was watching it and I stopped for a moment and thought, I could have sworn she had boobs! Last time I saw her, she definitely had boobs…And I looked around behind me but no one else was around the office but I wanted to ask them, ‘Doesn’t she have boobs?'”
I lost it. I started cracking up. After howling for a bit, I explained to him that I’ve really “always had boobs” and that I just “replaced the stuffing inside.” And I also said that my plastic surgeon obviously did a good job because he wouldn’t have known had he not watched the HuffPost Live segment.
I must applaud his courage to approach me about it. It was certainly an unusual way, but hey, why not? I’m glad he did.
But on that note, I am finally posting the links to all of the interviews I did following Angelina Jolie’s prophylactic mastectomy announcement. The morning after AJ’s New York Times column went live, I received a very early phone call from a sorority sister at ABC News, asking to interview me for a story. A few minutes later, I spoke on the phone with a woman at the UK’s Daily Mail. Then later that morning I saw an email from a friend in Germany who had written an excerpt for a newspaper about me.
The days following AJ’s announcement were pretty crazy for me. I received an enormous amount of traffic to the blog and quite a few media inquiries. Here’s a round-up of all of the publicity:
On-air interview for the Simi Sara Show, a talk radio show on Canada’s CKNW station (no audio here…I can’t upload the files =/)
It was pretty freakin’ sweet. The on-air interview for Australia’s Weekend Sunrise was interesting; I was at the Beverly Hills studio at 3 pm on Friday, streaming live to Australia, where it was already Saturday morning. Here are a few pics:
Here I am waiting to stream into Weekend Sunrise. Notice the great “view” of Los Angeles behind me.
And here’s a pic a coworker snagged of me during my HuffPost Live interview, which she tweeted. I promise I was not bored, just intently listening!
Last night, actress Angelina Jolie went public in the New York Times with her decision to undergo a prophylactic mastectomy. She revealed she carries a BRCA1 mutation, and that her mother passed away from cancer at the age of 56.
In her piece, Angelina writes about her children wanting to know if she would succumb to the same fate as her mother. She talks about the cancer risk associated with her BRCA mutation and the various steps of the surgery. These sentiments are all familiar to any woman who carries a hereditary breast and ovarian cancer risk, but what resonated with me the most in her writing was this:
“But I am writing about it now because I hope that other women can benefit from my experience. Cancer is still a word that strikes fear into people’s hearts, producing a deep sense of powerlessness. But today it is possible to find out through a blood test whether you are highly susceptible to breast and ovarian cancer, and then take action.”
Thank you, Angelina, for sharing your story. Every time a woman is brave enough to open up about her experience with hereditary cancer–from Angelina Jolie to Giuliana Rancic to Christina Applegate to my dear friend Trisha to ME!–there is limitless potential for making a difference. How many women will opt for BRCA testing because of Angelina Jolie? How many high-risk women will be more inclined to consider preventative surgery? Even if just one woman takes action, Angelina Jolie’s revelation will be worth it.
You go, girl. Thank you for joining the ranks of selfess women who have opened up about their mastectomies.
One year ago today I was lying in a hospital bed at UCLA Ronald Reagan Medical Center, extremely groggy and extremely happy. Part of it was from the pain medication, I’ll admit, but most of that happiness was caused by an overwhelming sense of relief.
Some women wait years between testing positive for a BRCA mutation and having a prophylactic mastectomy. I waited 140 days. 140 days of discontent. 140 days of suspicion. 140 days of self-loathing. 140 days of feeling like a stranger in my own body.
I went into my mastectomy on the morning of March 13, 2012 with anxiety and excitement, not knowing what would come next. I woke up in the afternoon without my breasts, but with the wonderful feeling of peace. A weight had been lifted: I wouldn’t have to think about breast cancer all the time, and I could get back to loving myself again.
One year later, I can say with confidence that I am once again glad to be me, Rachel Joy Horn. I don’t feel broken anymore, and I’m not living in fear of my body.
It’s been an interesting year, but looking back on it, certain moments that at the time felt awful were just hiccups along the way. Those Jackson-Pratt drains were horrendous, they really were–but whatever. My family didn’t care about them. My boyfriend didn’t mind them. My friends didn’t think they were weird. Despite them being a huge inconvenience to dressing like a normal human being, they didn’t stop me from having fun and being social.
At the time it was playing out, it felt as if the cellulitis infection and subsequent tissue expander removal would ruin my life. I literally sat in the hospital bed, Googling freezing-cold places I could escape to so I would never have to be seen in a swimsuit. But then I found a cotton prosthesis, and my mom made me a kick-ass mastectomy bikini with a waterproof falsie. And so I had One Ugly Summer…One Fun, Sunny, Active, Flat-Chested-on-the-Left-Side Ugly Summer.
One Ugly Summer…
Over the last year, I’ve learned that I have horrible veins and that I have fabulous friends. I’ve discovered that narcotics can give you migraines and that social networking can give you an incredible support community. I’ve realized that talking to doctors is crucial, just as talking to strangers is–you never know who understands and how they can help.
Sometimes I miss my breasts, or more specifically, my breast tissue. It’s a rare moment that I get jealous of another girl’s rack, but it happens. (I’m looking at you, Sports Illustrated cover Kate Upton.) My new boobs are not perfect…but then again, neither were my old ones. They are, however, mine, all 800 ccs and 14.2 cm of them, and they fit me. There are even glorious times when I think that I am the luckiest girl in the world for having them, like when I can wear a backless dress without a bra and not worry about sagging.
Okay, so I’ve never actually worn this dress…but just knowing that I CAN wear it is what matters.
For all of the women going through breast reconstruction right now, I ask you to please be patient. I know that it can seem very disheartening, what with all the scars and the weird shapes and the rippling. But things will look better, just wait…and maybe ask your plastic surgeon about some nipping and tucking.
To my friends and family, thank you for the flowers, the pillows, the sweet treats, the fuzzy elephants, the magazines, the nail polish, the phone calls, the text messages, the cards, the hospital visits…the love.
To acquaintances who have reached out to me with words of support and encouragement, thank you for your courage to speak up.
To my work colleagues, thank you for understanding my circumstances and for accommodating me with such graciousness.
To the wonderful ladies online going through something similar, thank you for your bravery and for your willingness to share your experiences to help me and others like me.
One year has gone by so fast, and I know part of that is thanks to all of you. Before I know it, I’ll have had my implants for ten years and it’ll be time to replace them. But let’s not rush that. =)
Monday was my final final final *crossing my fingers* surgery. Going into it, I felt a little like Veruca Salt. “I want perfect boobs Dr. Festekjian and I want them NOW!” “Festekjian…how much do you want for the perfect boobs? Name your price!” (I guess the answer to that will be arriving after the insurance adjustment in a few weeks!)
But really though. I did feel a bit…oh what should I say…spoiled? After all, I emerged from November’s implant exchange surgery with a pretty decent rack. After the swelling went down and I let things settle in for a month or two, I realized they were a good size and shape. But they weren’t perfect. And perfect is what I wanted, because, well–why not? After all of this–a mastectomy and an infection and reconstruction and all of these surgeries in the name of not getting breast cancer–I might as well get exactly what I want.
The main problems were the unevenness in nipple height and the rippling on the right side. But even the week before the surgery, when I sent an updated photo to a blog follower, she said they looked great and she thought I had already had the surgery to adjust the nipple height! For a moment there I considered canceling the surgery because I didn’t want to push my luck.
But…obviously I didn’t cancel it, and I’m sure glad I didn’t.
Per my usual routine, I spent all of Sunday chugging water like a crazy person to prepare my tiny veins to be poked and prodded. My mom picked me up from my apartment at 6:00 am on Monday morning. Jeani, bless her heart, had scheduled me for the earliest appointment because of the snafu that happened last time.
I checked in at the outpatient surgery center, changed into the sexy hospital gown and matching accessories, then chatted with a nurse. It’s kind of strange when you start to recognize the doctors and nurses…I’m pretty sure this particular nurse, who has been a vegan for over twenty years and always eats salad for lunch, has checked me in three times.
The most miraculous thing happened next. Brace yourself, because what you are about to read may rock your world and make you question everything you know.
A nurse anesthetist came in to talk to me about the anesthesia cocktail and start my IV. She was young, kind…unassuming. Little did I know of the POWERS SHE POSSESSED.
As is custom, my mom and I launched into our tirade about my horrible veins and the atrocities that have befallen me at the hands of IV nurses and anesthesia doctors alike in the walls of the UCLA Medical Center: the constant pokes, the unyielding veins, the need to “call in the big guns” and of course, the multiple PICC lines.
UNSCATHED by these warnings, the young nurse did persist with a smile. “I’ll have to numb you up then!” Haha, you fool! Numbing medicine will do nothing but make my uncooperative veins further retreat into the depths of my wrist/hand/arm/foot/every other part of my body, I mused as she left the room.
Moments later she returned carrying a tiny needle and an IV kit. As she stationed herself to my left, the noble Dr. Festekjian appeared, clad in a red track jacket. As we exchanged the standard hellos, the young nurse poked me with the numbing needle, warning me of a slight sting. “‘Twas nothing”, I murmured.
Then she started the long, daunting process of stabbing me with the IV needle to find a vein. I settled in for the long haul, turning my attention to Dr. Festekjian, when suddenly…within seconds…the voice of an angel rang out.
“All done! Your IV is started.”
A MIRACLE. It took her only ONE TRY, only ONE MEASLY POKE, to start my IV. I wanted to hug her, become her best friend, then follow her around from place to place for the rest of my life so she can always be the one to start my IV.
I was giddy with excitement at this point, but tried to remain steady while Dr. Festekjian played Connect the Dots on my chest with the pretty sterile pen. I figured that if I moved too much and the lines were uneven, it would be my own damn fault if my nips still looked lopsided.
A few minutes later the happy drugs were put into my IV, I was wheeled into the operating room, and then I was out. By 10 am I was awake in the recovery room, and I was discharged by 10:30 am.
Wisely, Dr. Festekjian warned my mom that I would be very bruised and very swollen for a while, possibly with some dimpling. I’m sure he was hoping to avoid the “WTF!” email he received last time. Even with the painkillers, I could definitely feel a dull soreness on my right side where he did all of the work. Even the arm fat near my armpit was super bruised.
I stayed home from work yesterday and today and took a shower this morning. I’m on antibiotics for a few days, and I’m definitely swollen; my right breast looks about one cup size bigger than the left breast, like I have a 1000 cc implant in there instead of 800 cc. And there is certainly some dimpling, mainly where the stitches are holding the skin up. But the nipples sure seem even and the alloderm seems to have gotten rid of the rippling, so I can’t wait to see how they look in a week or two!
My post-op with Dr. Festekjian is on Tuesday morning. I feel okay right now, still a bit sore, but I’ll be returning to work tomorrow. I did go on an hour-long walk this evening to stretch my legs, and that felt great. Hopefully I’ll get permission to head back to the gym next week. Interestingly enough, I am using my pit pillow again. It works well to support my arm when I’m on my computer and when I’m sleeping. Thanks again to my friend Kim who originally introduced me and my mom to pit pillows!
Pictures soon. Right now I’ve got them tucked up nicely in a sports bra so I don’t really feel like digging them out of there.
Instead, I leave you with a photo of the Chester Bug, keeping me company while I worked from home today. Isn’t he just the cutest little kitten? (Yes. I’m that person now. #instacat #catstagram #ilovemycat.)
First off, I want to thank all of my readers for supporting Young Previvors after our Facebook trouble a few weeks ago. Our original group has not been restored yet, nor have we heard anything from Facebook about why the group was deleted. We have, however, started a new Young Previvors group. Our admin, Liz, continues to do a phenomenal job of screening all potential new members, so if you are a previvor or a high-risk young woman, consider joining us.
Things have been uneventful in my world of breast reconstruction, but they’ll pick up a bit in a few weeks. My final-final-final-last-one-I-seriously-promise-you’ll-never-have-to-read-about-it-again-unless-it-looks-ugly surgery is on Monday, February 25. Dr. Festekjian will be doing some minor cosmetic adjustments.
When I saw Dr. Festekjian at my two-month post-op a few weeks ago, I was still concerned about the difference in height between my nipples. Although they’ve certainly improved since my initial implant exchange surgery, the right nipple is still noticeably lower than the left.
At the appointment, Dr. Festekjian asked me point-blank which side I like more. I told him the left side, and to my relief, that was the acceptable answer. He can make my right side match my left side, but because of the extensive work he did on my left side during the implant exchange surgery, he can’t make the left side match the right. Unless, he joked, I get an infection on the right breast. Har har har. Funny.
In the outpatient surgery, he will lift up the right nipple and put some internal stitches in place so it sits higher. He will also add a layer of alloderm underneath my skin, to cover up the rippling. I plan to take a few days off work, but given my quick recovery from the past surgeries, I expect to be back in the office by Thursday. Watch…now that I’ve said that, I’ll have some horrible allergic reaction to the ice cubes in the recovery room and be bed-stricken for the next two months.
Okay, moving on: I have some very important and exciting news to share with everyone. I’d like to introduce you to Chester Frito Horn, my new furry child.
He’s an 18-week-old American medium hair. I officially adopted him from the animal shelter at 11:30 am on Saturday morning, then promptly sent him across the street to the vet surgery center to have his balls removed. Sorry, bug…YOU’RE IN MY WORLD NOW.
I picked him up this afternoon and he seems to be doing just fine. Here he is, Cone of Shame and all. He is now, in my parents’ words, a consultant.
Cat people: how can I get him to stay off of the kitchen counter? I’m scared he’s going to set his tail on fire with the pilot lights on the stove!
Have a fantastic week, everyone. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Hi friends! I hope you all had a great holiday, whatever you celebrate. Over here at the law firm of Horn, Horn & Horn, we celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas.
It’s been more than a month since my implant exchange surgery, and I am much happier with how the implants have settled in. There is still some difference in nipple height, but I think the breasts have evened out in size and look much more similar.
People have asked me what size I am now. The answer? 14.2 cm 800 cc–duh, obviously.
Don’t worry. I get it. Unless you’re Dr. Festekjian, that means nothing to you. It doesn’t really mean much to me, either. While Christmas shopping at Target a few weeks ago, I bought a cheap bra on a whim. I tried on three different sizes: 36C, 36D, and 38D. The 38D bra fit the best, so right now that’s my size, but I will go to a professional to be fitted soon. (And FINALLY use the Victoria’s Secret gift card my dear friend Anna gave me right after my mastectomy–whoohoo!)
I’ve been dressing up a lot and I love it. If you know me offline, you know that I prefer comfort over style. My weekend uniform consists of yoga pants, a tank top, and sneakers. Sometimes I shake things up with a sweatshirt if I’m feeling daring (or cold). But since I have these brand spankin’ new boobs, I’ve been looking for an opportunity to show them off! Luckily, this holiday season did not let me down.
At the beginning of December, I went to Vegas for my sorority sister Cami’s bachelorette party. My favorite thing about going anywhere with sorority sisters is that we all share clothes. On Friday night, I wore one of Jennifer’s dresses and I actually had CLEAVAGE for the first time since March! Sorry, Bryce.
The next weekend was my company’s holiday party at the SLS Hotel in Beverly Hills. It was amazing. There were EEL TACOS. EEL FREAKIN’ TACOS. I used that magical Forever 21 gift card to buy a cute strapless dress for the party, and I even got to wear my giant heels because Bryce is 9 1/2 feet tall!
“Hey Bryce, how’s the weather up there?”
AND THEN…Cami and her fiance Nick got married this past Saturday! Their wedding was at the Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach. It was a small, intimate ceremony. Cami looked beautiful! Nick is a lucky man.
I wore the pink dress I wore to my graduation dinner in May. The only difference was that this time I had two boobs! Last time I had one tissue expander and one falsie. I think I prefer the two boobs.
Sorority sisters! From left to right: Jennifer, Marissa, Cami, Danielle, Rachel, Nora
Clearly, I’ve come a long way in my crazy mastectomy journey. But it’s not over yet. I like my implants now. I think they are a good size and they look and feel natural. However, I’m not in love with them.
Should I go back to Dr. Festekjian and ask him to do more work on them? Maybe. Probably. But even then, I won’t be IN LOVE with them. Because I am not IN LOVE with the rest of my body! Until I am completely happy with how everything else looks, I’ll never be 100% satisfied with my implants.
So 2013 is going to be about changing my body the difficult way…without plastic. I’ve struggled with my weight all my life. (Literally, all my life. I learned over Christmas that I weighed over NINE POUNDS when I was born. HOLY SHIT.) Anyway, 2012 was one of those struggle times because of the mastectomy. Now it’s time to get back into shape.
“Stop right now, ma’am! Put the spoon down and back away slowly.”
Here are some of my goals for the new year:
Develop some upper body strength. If my arms look toned, my implants will look better. I am going to keep seeing my physical therapist Jenni to learn how to do this safely.
Get my abs back. Believe it or not, for the first half of high school, my stomach was really toned. I did Pilates all the time and it really worked! Then, for whatever reason, I stopped. And on came the flab.
Get back into spinning. It’s my favorite workout, because it’s effective, and everyone looks like shit afterwards. I know that sounds harsh, but I’m a sweater; no, not a cardigan–someone who sweats a LOT. I hate working out at the gym next to girls with immaculate hair and makeup who look amazing the entire time. NO ONE looks good after 45 minutes on the stationary bike at a spin class.
In addition to spinning, I want to try more cardio. I am going to join a local gym, probably the YMCA, and I plan to take advantage of the classes offered. Dance Aerobics and Zumba both sound pretty fun to me.
Eat out less and cook more (good for the waistline and the wallet!). I need to learn how to cook and be more adventurous with my meals. A few weeks ago, a friend made Bryce and me enchiladas for dinner. He put spinach and mushrooms in mine because I’m a vegetarian. They were DELICIOUS. I would have never thought to put spinach in an enchilada…it was life-changing
Buy a castle.
Appear on Jeopardy.
Win Jeopardy.
I’m not sure yet how I am going to measure my success. My friend at work, Garineh, had a similar New Year’s resolution for 2012. She wrote a blog post on eHow with tips for keeping a resolution. I’ll develop my actual numerical goals based on some of her advice.
One thing is for sure: once I meet my goals, I will have Michelle Obama’s arms, Gwen Stefani’s abs, Wolfgang Puck’s skills, and Warren Buffett’s wealth. (Yeah, that’s how often I eat out now and how much I plan to win on Jeopardy!) Oh and this castle.
What are your goals/resolutions for 2013? Happy new year, everyone!
Ticking Time Bombs 