Back to Work Boobless

I'm really glad I decided to go back to work part time for a week. I highly recommend that path for anyone getting this surgery. I thought I'd be completely fine the first day, but I underestimated my level of exhaustion. Being home by noon was a godsend. Some people online recommend SIX weeks off. Two full weeks off felt right, but three might have been better. This was a good compromise.

It didn't help that Sunday night my cats either found or brought a mouse into my bed at around 2 a.m. I woke to them pouncing in unison right next to me with my chest a barely closed wound inches from all those razor sharp claws. Yikes! I kicked them off the bed then heard the squeaky chirp of some kind of small animal. A mouse, a bat, or maybe a bird? I wasn't up to an investigation, so I took my clock to the living room couch for the rest of the night. 

When my alarm rang, I turned it off and promptly fell into a deep sleep until my daughter got me up about the time I should have been walking out the door. I have never fallen back to sleep after my alarm's gone off. I made it on time, but ill-prepared for the first day back, and with my classroom keys forsaken on the kitchen table.  

I'm not in too much pain, although it's there, pretty steadily. The cold really gets to me, and I'm sitting with a scarf doubled around my chest. The biggest issue is that I feel like I've run a marathon by ten in the morning. I just need to close my eyes a little. 

I dove right in to my regular clingy clothes without prosthetics, and nobody noticed. I guess my boobs weren't as spectacular as I imagined! I feel like someone with hair down to her waist pulling a Sinead O'Connor. It's horrible when people are upset with you, "How could you do that? You had such beautiful hair!" You never really know how much people love your hair until you cut it all off. But it's also a little weird when nobody says anything as if that's how you've always looked.

But clearly this is a little different. It's uncomfortable for people to notice a change like this. It means that they noticed that I actually had breasts at one time, and that's right up there with admitting we noticed someone's skin colour. Of course we notice, but our fear of appearing sexist or racist makes it's tricky to admit that we're able to see body shape and skin tone. 

I feel a little more bottom heavy, and my little belly is more front and centre. I might never exhale again. I feel slightly out of balance and square-shaped rather than hourglass. It's not quite like I'm ten-years-old again because I didn't have hips back then, but it's not too bad. 

ETA: It was a huge mouse (or maybe a baby rat). I finally found the carcass four days later!