alien boobs

I am getting better about all of this, I think. Still in planning mode, but also feeling a bit more optimistic. It's a roller coaster. Beginning to have faith that recovery won't be so bad. I keep checking in with my husband, just to know that he's ok with all of this. He says he's good with alien boobs. That's what I call them, alien boobs. We told my son yesterday that I was getting fake ones put in, in place of some bad cells. He was disappointed I wouldn't really be part robot. I have to keep sense of humor about this. In the big scheme of things, this won't matter. I worry that I will forever look at other's boobs and envy that they still have theirs. I look at my own boobs a lot more. They're cute, but not as cute as they used to be and the poor left boobie, that keeps getting picked on is starting to deflate. It's almost as if it's depressed, throwing in the towel and saying, ok, I'm done. Scheduling will happen today. For a while I thought I wanted to wait to do this, wanted to enjoy my holidays and then recover when it's cold and dreary in January, but now, it's like it can't happen soon enough. There never really is a good time, right? Like being pregnant. Somewhere during your year, it's gonna suck. You're either going to be pregnant during the holidays, or fat during the summer, or whatever. Of course the end result is worth every second of sickness and fatness and uncomfortableness. I kind of feel that way with this. When I am past this and can look at my family with some certainty that, barring more unexpected crap, you can guarantee I am going to be around, and healthy, and happy, damn it, then it's all worth it. Boobs. The answer lies in the word. Boob. It's a weird appendage with no further purpose other than to look good. They served their purpose well, very well. And even after all of this, they can still look good, even if they are alien boobs.