When I was on the verge of puberty, like most girls my age, I wished for big breasts. I did the whole, ‘I must, I must, I must increase my bust’ chant. I longed for the day I could buy my first bra. Back then, having big breasts seemed glamorous and sexy. Boy, was I wrong!
What nobody tells you is that your breasts keep growing. In my late teens through my early thirties I had a B cup and things were great. Clothes fit me nicely, I could participate in any physical activity I wanted and I got just the right amount of attention. In my mid thirties to my early forties, I had a C cup. Now my breasts were a little heavier and a bit more in the way when I ran, danced or jumped around. The gaze I was used to getting from men was migrating south by about a foot and my lower back started to give me a bit of pain. When I hit 42 (the magic number that Douglas Adams gives as the answer to life, the universe and everything), my breasts were now filling up a D cup. My lower back pain was more of a chronic worry. I had to choose my physical activities more carefully. Men now exclusively stared at my chest before looking at my face. In hot weather I began to develop a heat rash underneath my breasts. Now, at 47 my breasts are a DD cup and I am sick and tired of the damned things!
Doctors say that every one pound of weight on your front equals TEN pounds of weight your back must carry. My breasts weigh about three pounds each, which means my back is carrying 60 pounds of unnecessary weight. Is it any wonder I have chronic lower back pain? I will never understand women who voluntarily enlarge their breasts with surgery past the point of a C cup.
Back pain is not the only issue my breasts have bestowed upon me over the years. I have been blessed with fibrocystic breast disorder. I get large fluid filled cysts (multiple) in my breasts that must be drained with a large, scary needle a couple of times a year. Not only do these cysts make my breasts misshapen and tender, they add weight. I have also had breast cancer. In my case I was lucky because the small tumour I had, grew almost entirely inside one of the aforementioned cysts and was therefore relatively easy for my surgeon to remove, though I still had to undergo chemotherapy because of a tiny cluster of cells that grew unnoticed on the outside of the cyst.
I can’t get a mammogram (which costs nothing) because of the fibrocystic breast disease, so, instead I must get an ultrasound, which is not covered by my province’s medical insurance plan and costs me $165 at least twice a year. I am seriously considering breast reduction surgery (which would be covered by my insurance), but I prefer not to go under the knife unless I absolutely have to, so I am weighing that option very carefully. There have even been days when I have thought that it would be great if I got another cancerous tumour because then, I could just get a double mastectomy and be done with them. (I know, be careful what you wish for)
Oh yes, big breasts would be so glamorous and sexy. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about how my breasts are in the way of the life I want to be living. I’m beginning to feel like my breasts are taking over control of my whole body.