Skip to main content

Breasts

I've been mistaken for a boy back in my early days of forced pixie cuts and flat-chested androgeny. Mortified, I'd hoped for large breasts and long hair to brand me, unequivocally, as female..Of course, when hoped for breasts arrived they looked more like "man boobs", those fleshy protuberances that develop on fleshy men or boys. No real help. But eventually they formed well enough for the boys to notice.

That could be a whole new blog, so let's not go there. Eventually, I would marry and have my baby girl. My breasts took on a whole new purpose. Nourishment.. I am among the women that found breastfeeding to be very rewarding and one of the greatest starts to my daughter's life. She was healthy, rarely sick, and thriving.

My breasts had something to do with finding and pleasing my second and current husband though he will be red in the face over my disclosure.  Unfortunately, my breasts aren't the asset they used to be. At this point of my disease, my breasts are a liability. My breathing is getting to be quite labored especially lying down prone. My double D-cup breasts are heavy and put an increased burden right over my diaphragm. Furthermore, they're in the way. I had a PEG tube surgically placed and wouldn't you know, the doctor placed it right smack between my breasts. Seriously!

Could there be a worse spot for a bra-wearing, large-chested woman? Every time I move, my breasts torque my skin, constantly pulling at the PEG site. As a result, I've had constant issues with the PEG. So, what is the solution? Is there one?
Labels:
Location: 2720 East Madison Street, Seattle, WA 98112, USA

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I Remember...

I remember catching fireflies,  putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field.  That field was my...
3 comments
Read more

You're Not You...Me, Too!

1 Wow! Spot on...In so many ways.  Granted I wasn't in the the same socio-economic circumstance, and neither do I play piano but I was passionate about knitting and I lost the ability to engage in my passion practically from the onset of the ALS. Symptoms first manifested in my right hand as well. I was big on juicing, supplements, and did not worry about fats nor calories. But ALS advanced relentlessly. I hired friends as caregivers and had to bear the humiliation of being toileted by them.One of the worst hurdles for me was allowing a long time male friend wipe me following a toilet. My mother, stepfather, and sister all toileted me as well. Of course, my husband had to attend to all of my most delicate needs, showering, dressing and make-up application. I could really relate to Hillary Swank's character, Kate, in all circumstances except, she chose not to use the bipap (breathing apparatus).  I don't really get why somebody would opt out of a non-invasive solution to...
3 comments
Read more

Kate

I think about my friend, Kate Struby, who died from this horrible disease in 2013. She lived here at Bailey Boushay House before I did. I reached out to Kate online through FaceBook because I loved her photograph with her head thrown back in laughter. I also loved her posts. I guess I just loved her spirit. I got to finally meet her one month before she died. I happened to be at the University of Washington Medical Center for my quarterly appointment when I saw her FaceBook post. She was awake and in the medical ICU. She was a mere few floors down. I would not be stopped. Relativeor no, I would meet my FaceBook friend. Thank God I did. I rolled into the room to find a beautiful, ethere.al woman flanked by two friends. Although it was an impromtu visit, she said she knew me immediately.I was in awe of her with her fiery spirit despite the ravages of our shared disease. She, unable to lift even a finger, lifted my spirit.
2 comments
Read more