Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Ooh La La! a Surgical Bra

As I mentioned in my "Mushu Pork and Poking Boobies" blog post, I have been slowly losing any sense of pride or modesty when it comes to checking out my own boobs in public.  
Today, however, I may have hit a low point.  
They don't tell you all the glamorous stuff about surgery in this area.  Like that you need to wear this strange velcro corset for days that looks like a reject from Jessie's wardrobe on Saved By the Bell.  That you won't have sensation in your armpit for weeks, months or maybe ever and shaving it feels like you're putting a razor to a piece of construction paper.  Or that you might have blue marks on your boob...FOREVER!  Being a person with tattoos, this doesn't bother me so much.  What does bother me is having to wait weeks for the magical band-aids (steri-strips) to come off on their own, all the while horrified about what's underneath.  So, you try to ignore the band-aids, and trim them as they start to come off.  I'm not sure what I think will be under there.  Maybe a cancer gnome?  A cancer gnome doing a happy prospector dance while laughing at me?  Anything's possible.
But, where was I?  Oh, yes.  My low moment.  It came today, before my library class.  I knew I had twenty minutes so I was peeking into my v-neck to check and see if the cancer gnome had escaped.  I was peering in there for a while...and there may have been some re-adjusting.  Okay, there was definitely re-adjusting,
Then, I hear a noise behind me.  
Oh, yes.  The class came early.  
They were all standing there, looking at me like "Why is Miss Kate rooting around in her shirt?"  They don't know about the cancer gnome.
Well, what could I do?  As gracefully and inconspicuously as I could, I wiped some invisible lint off my shoulder and pretended like it never happened.
But now I have joined the ranks of comical moments where people are in a compromising or embarrassing position and they turn around to see a group of slack-jawed children.
Who knows?  Maybe I am trapped in an 80's-to-90's coming-of-age movie about breast cancer.  It will be like...My Girl meets Karate Kid meets The Peanut-Butter Solution.  Oh, its a real triumph of the human spirit...  
So that is today's tale of shame.  Maybe now that I've had my comical embarrassing moment I can move into the montage portion of my tale.  
Everyone loves a montage!


  1. You need a song for the montage... maybe something by an 80's hair band?

  2. I just want to point this out as your mother and someone who love you deeply and known you for your whole life. You have been rooting in your shirt in public for years in total oblivion inciting the delight of some and with the short skirts some inevitable display of unmentionables... don't think you can blame the big BC totally for this