frankenbuttboob - worst post ever?

I don't think I'm too broken up about losing my breast, but I am unnerved about the change. I'm not quite sure how to explain. It's just that this body is going to be really different and that my physical existence -this bodily home- will not be the same and I'd just rather not have to do it. I get that it's all for the greater good and so on, so we're covered there; I am not arguing against having the surgery in any way. But it's like someone barging into your house one day and saying, "Hey, uh, we're going to have to take part of the kitchen and put it in the bedroom - not the whole thing, just the cabinets, maybe small appliances." (I am the queen of bad cancer metaphor) Well, I don't fucking want my kitchen in the bedroom (ok, I'll be honest, maybe I kind of do...at least a coffee pot and a toaster - how dreamy would that be? but back to my very serious metaphor). The kitchen in the bedroom? Why would we do that? Oh. Because if we don't the whole house will crumble, huh? Well, then, put the fucking kitchen wherever you want. Except this isn't my house - it's my body. I am both the kitchen and the bedroom. I feel no compulsion to rearrange any of it. I kind of hate the idea of plastic surgery to begin with (I'll discuss my misgivings about having reconstruction at all another time) and here I am signing up to do some serious Frankenstein-ing of my very own self and, well, I just hadn't ever made plans for putting my ass on my chest. It's alarming, but I don't want the whole thing to crumble, so here goes.

Tasteless things I joke about with regard to reconstruction:

1. For a while I will not have a nipple. Fortunately there are mail-order 3D rubber nipple stickers. I like to think about getting them and just always putting it in a slightly wrong spot, a little too far inside or outside where it ought to be.

2. I told Jason that if I were to purchase said stickers, he would have to wear one on his knee for a day. There is no logic to this deal I struck on his behalf because neither of us feel strongly about the nipple stickers in the first place. I just like to think of silly things to do with them, like sticking one to the bottom of a restaurant's coffee mug.

3. Call myself frankenbuttboob.

4. Day dream about asking my plastic surgeon for a third nipple or calling the insurance company to ask if it would be a covered procedure. If I were just a little more outgoing or bored, I would definitely make that phone call.

5. Frequently feel compelled to ask people if they want to feel the tumor like showing off a bad bruise or impressive scar. I think this makes official that in my mind, this breast and intimacy have become thoroughly detached. Also, I puzzle over it fairly often, wondering what it looks like and if it's changing, and tend to assume that everyone else would be so weird and curious as myself.