TitTalk Time.

The past couple of nights, well mornings actually, I've been waking up FLAT on my stomach. Well, this presents a serious problem when you have tissue expanders for boobs, because, well....Let me put it this way....Go find two big river rocks....Like the sizes of baby heads...(I know, that sounds totally weird/morbid, but my foobs are about EACH the size of baby heads...Sorry) Put these big baby head rocks in your bra, and then sleep on your stomach all night....Wake up in the morning, and see how wonderful you feel. It won't be so "wonderful", let me tell ya....It is actually excruciatingly painful.

I guess my body is sick and tired of sleeping on its' side, so it's gone back to sleeping on its' stomach. (See how I am not taking the blame for all of this...It's my body's fault. NOT mine!) Maybe I'm sleeping just so damn hard that I don't even realize that I am smashing my foobs in my sleep...I don't know, but it's got to stop, because I think sleeping like this is causing the edge of my expanders to get caught/rub against my sternum, and THAT sucks ass! Not only is that painful, it is just a weird feeling that I can't even explain. It's almost like having a tweezer-scrape-against-your-eyeball type of sensation...(Not that I've ever had a tweezer scrape against my eyeball or anything, but I could only imagine!)

But enough about the whining and being a titbag, I've been getting very anxious/ready for my exchange surgery. I am so ready to have squishy foobs, and to be able to take a deep breath without feeling like crushing my ribs. Like I've said before, I'm ready to get on with this next chapter of my life, and so on...

 In the midst of all of my reconstruction/recovery/returning back to work TOO soon/ getting back to work/just living life, I am always reminded of the reason why I am going through all of this. Every time I look in the mirror and see my breasts, which technically aren't even breasts anymore, which don't even have nipples anymore and are held together with 2 long horizontal scars across them, I am reminded of my decision to want to sacrifice them, in order to hopefully save my life.  This BRCA2 gene mutation within me may just sound like a scientific weird thing to the common person. But to me, it is something that killed my mom. Because of this mutation, my mom got breast cancer and died. (She was also BRCA2+) Because of this mutation, women die everyday from breast cancer. But not me. By having my breasts removed (before a tumor went haywire or something) my chance of getting breast cancer has decreased by 90%. I'm not it's prey. I won't be it's victim. Not anymore.