So it should come as no surprise that the day before my double mastectomy, I went to get my hair done.
I thought it was important to have nice shiny hair while getting my breasts removed.
The next morning I woke up and watched my beautiful baby girl sleeping.
Going Under the Knife The night before my surgery, I took off my bra, put on my bunny ears and tried my best to squeeze out a smile, as I posed on my bed.
I asked my friend to take pictures of me, so I could remember what my real breasts looked like.
But I couldn’t allow myself to feel the magnitude of this. When I arrived at the hospital, I went into pre-op. He took my hand and promised me that I would be okay.
First my breast surgeon came in to see me, then my plastic surgeon. The anesthesiologist came in, hooked me up to the IV and told me to count to ten.
I always enjoyed my perky B minus cups (as I sometimes fondly called them) and never had the desire to upgrade.
My nipples were always a huge erogenous zone for me that I knew I would sadly have to say goodbye to.Even though my right breast was pristine, I opted for the double.I felt like my ex husband was my cancer and I wanted to cut him all out. But I live in Los Angeles, and I do like to look my best.Especially when I go to therapy or to my gynecologist.I also had my hair done six months earlier, the day I kicked my husband out of the house. It's about me: a single mom back in the dating pool who was facing a total breast reconstruction, but with a head of hair that really had its shit together. On the bright side, as the doctor put it, I had the best kind of cancer, Ductal carcinoma in situ (DCIS), caught at the earliest stage.