Once upon a time, there was a little girl with straw-blonde hair and big blue eyes. She believed her family was like other families. She learned conflict was bad; hide from it and depression was normal; blame it for bad days. Anxiety and school phobia made her throw up, morning after morning. She begged her mother to let her stay at home, but apparently the consequence of that would be mummy going to jail, a fate more terrifying than even school. At nine years old another horrendous event occurred in the life of the already distressed child. Breasts.

She felt unprepared for womanhood and watched aghast as her little girl nipples began to swell and bud. Friends her age were still wearing pretty little vests; she was taken to Woolworths to buy her new bra. A guardsman in his sentry box stood watch on each breast. Another on the matching knickers. And no that’s not a euphemism, there were men in busbies on my first bra. Oh how we loved Woolies.

Anyhow the small triangles of stretchy polyester didn’t last long. I was soon upgraded to a B cup lace bra. Most of my friends still had nothing to fill a bra. Boys at my primary school were fascinated by my rapid launch into puberty and demonstrated their appreciation for my new boobs by mercilessly pinging the back band of my lovely new bra until I cried. I would have a sore red line across my back when I removed the bra. As soon as I possibly could. I hated it and everything associated with it. And I discovered comfort eating, a habit I’ve never shaken. And being bullied at school for being fat at least took some eyes off my breasts.

By the start of secondary school I was wearing a C cup bra. How I wish we’d had polo shirts for uniform in those days, not stiff school blouses that gaped on my bust every time I moved. When I was abused as a youngster by my mother’s male friend it was generally my boobs that got the attention. I would cringe under his touch, knowing if I made a fuss he’d take it out on my mum. Until at 14 I told her I wouldn’t go with her to see him anymore. As much as she turned on the emotional blackmail I learnt an important lesson; I could make it stop. I found my voice.

By the time I was married at 19 I was wearing an E cup. My husband (literally) threatened me when I once brought up the subject of having a breast reduction. He told me God had created me as I am and He doesn’t make mistakes, so why would I even consider messing with things? Also he was a fan of big boobs. Not that he ever appreciated the assets at his disposal, but in his mind they belonged to him. I’d lost my voice again.

By the time my husband died I was wearing an H cup. I’d shelved ideas of getting the breasts reduced until maybe three or for years ago, when I presented at hospital with a queried lump. Thankfully the lump turned out to be nothing, but the breast surgeon I met rather aggressively said to me, “Whatever size are they? They need reducing!” It got me thinking, and I discussed it with my GP. He was incredibly supportive and wrote me a glowing referral letter, requesting I should be considered for a reduction operation on the NHS. I was refused. I felt utterly deflated. How could a breast surgeon be so blunt in pointing out how I needed the op and I still be declined.

At that point, I began to mull over the possibility of having the operation done privately when I inherited from my parents estate. Having watched my poor mum become increasingly hunchbacked as she got older because of her own oversized pendulous breasts, as much as didn’t want anything to happen to my dad, I kept that thought tucked away in the back of my mind. In fact on one occasion when he was speaking to me about his will, I did bring up that I planned to have the surgery. He was bemused. He didn’t grasp the health implications and like most men I have discussed the notion with, his reaction was, “Why ever would you want to do that?”

I’ve spent most of my life tolerating my breasts at best, at worst, hating them. In a radical attempt to make friends with them in the summer of 2018 I had my nipples pierced. A bit radical, but it seemed I had nothing to lose. And actually the results were pleasing. I enjoyed the increased sensitivity I gained. And I liked how they looked.

In the two year period I was with Dave, my wayward big boobs were admired and adored, not just by him, but by people we met in swinging clubs, both male and female. And I had some wonderful moments. For the first time in my life, I was ok with them.

After my dad died, and as dealing with his estate progressed, the reality of that operation loomed suddenly very real. And something I’d contemplated for so long suddenly filled me with every kind of doubt. I talked to lots of people. I talked to Dave, as he was the closest thing I had to a partner. He was incredibly supportive. I had to discuss the particulars with my financial advisor because of accounting for the cost. That was a surreal conversation I can tell you. I made tentative enquires. And this morning I had an initial mini consultation with my surgeon.

I was absolutely in bits, my anxiety was having a field day. I am so thankful for great friends who were cheering me on. I wanted Dave’s support, but I knew contacting him would be counter productive. I stayed strong. Also I wouldn’t wish breast cancer on anyone, let alone one of my closest friends, but when they turn out to be perfectly placed next door to the cosmetic surgery clinic I can’t help but be grateful.

The surgeon was so lovely. He listened to my concerns. I felt he really heard my heart, my struggle. I was not in any way dismissed or patronised. He clearly explained the procedure to me, gave me everything in writing, which is always good with my intermittently woolly brain. From being fearful and doubtful if I should even proceed on arrival, I was utterly reassured and full of hope when I left. Currently the clinic is not doing any cosmetic surgery because they have handed their theatres over to the NHS in light of Covid. Also I don’t have the money for the operation yet. But we decided we will go ahead when we can. And I’m excited. Any fears have gone.

Right now life is about making positive choices for me. Finding my voice again, discovering myself, building up my strength and resolve and evolving into a woman I’m content with.

Thanks for reading 👼🏻