We’ve had a love hate relationship for many years. Well mainly hate if I’m honest.
- When I was young they were too small
- When I was stuck in traffic they fell out of dresses (OK that only happened once but it was EMBARRASSING!)
- When I was pregnant they were too sore
- When I breastfed they sprayed milk everywhere
- When I finished breast feeding they were too shriveled.
Then over the last few years we’ve made peace with each other. I put on a bit of weight and suddenly my boobs were just as I wanted them! (My hate then shifted to my belly, but that’s another story…) so for the last two years we’ve really got on. I display them proudly in a low cut top, give them a bit of spray tan loving and in return they don’t pop out uninvited and get me the occasional free drink in a bar. Its sods law then that its at such a good point in our relationship that we must part ways (cue violins…)
I picture it as 1940‘s lovers saying goodbye at a train station as one goes off to war. The warrier boobs have boarded the train and are leaning out of the window to give me a kiss and tell me how much they love me. I love you too Boobs! I run alongside the train as it departs the station, desperate to spend every last minute with my loved one(s). The train gets faster and faster and the distance between us grows but I keep running. And as I reach the end of the platform, the train goes off into the sunset and I know we will never see each other again….
Ok so that might be a little dramatic. But I will be sad to see them go!
So it seemed only fitting that I gave them a good send off! We decided to have a hastily put together farewell party at the local pub! Lots of prosecco, lots of laughs and lots of booby themed cake!! My sister makes the most AMAZING cakes, seriously amazing, but i think even she excelled herself with this one. It not only looked fabulous (pert nipples and all) but tasted just divine! I could dedicate an entire post to the chocolate salted caramel domes of heaven but everyones computers would short circuit from all the drool on them! So i will just say….it was good.
Some of my friends had a feel of the lump, surprised at what ‘Cancer’ actually felt like (mine is apparently like “gristle” and not the hard lump they expected). I never really knew what Cancer ‘felt like’ and being told to feel for changes can be a bit ambiguous. So they had a feel to get an idea of things to look out for (of course not all cancers feel the same so its not a definitive, or scientific study!) People just putting their hand down my top did get some strange looks from the other locals but nevermind. Obviously if there are any attractive young men who need to know what Cancer feels like I will of course volunteer myself. Just for the purposes of education you understand.
We had a brief moment when I couldn’t find the lump and thought I may need to send everyone home as the prosecco had miraculously cured me…but alas it was still there. Back to recognised cancer treatments then (but how good would it be if Cancer was cured with prosecco?! I would certainly be cured!)
My gorgeous friend Kirstin (who I would like to take with me to surgery to have my new boobs modelled on hers) had had a superhero cape, mask and cuffs made for me which I wore proudly through the night! I’m tempted to wear it into hospital when I go in but I’m not sure how that would go down. It will definitely be making an appearance at at least one chemo session though!
The night was just generally a great laugh. And it was wonderful to be surrounded by people who kept reminding me if there was anything I needed, they would be there. And I believe them. I am a very fussy person when it comes to friends (some may say intolerant) so I can’t tell you how lucky I feel to be in this situation at a time when I have selected so many great people to surround myself with. Times like this I am glad I am so fussy and haven’t wasted seats around the table on messers.
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As the night drew to a close I received a text from BBC 5 live asking for an interview at 7am in the morning about a stillbirth research study. So as people left the pub and the boobs moved out of the limelight it was time for a quick nap before it was up to fight my other battle, the battle against stillbirth. Whats the expression…No rest for the wicked??