Ta Ta For Now, Boobs… Thanks For The Mammaries
- timandcloe
- Aug 1
- 8 min read
My body and I have had a complicated relationship over the years.
A bit of love, a bit of frustration, and plenty of unsolicited criticism from me along the way.
There have definitely been parts of my body that I have wished looked different. Parts I would have happily tweaked, improved, or maybe just hidden away from public viewing.
But that doesn’t mean I haven’t loved my body.
I have always appreciated what my body has done for me. It has carried me through life, allowed me to experience some incredible things, grown and nurtured my beautiful son, survived injuries and surgeries, and kept showing up for me every single day.
(Although, in hindsight, the whole “keeping me alive” thing has become slightly questionable since it decided to throw me a Stage 3 breast cancer curveball… but we’ll let that one slide.)
But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t physical parts of myself that, in my opinion, could have done with a little more effort.
Take my feet, for example.
I am incredibly grateful for all the places these little trotters have taken me. They have carried me through a half marathon, Tough Mudder, far too many Northbridge club crawls, and most recently, 100km during cancer treatment for Breast Cancer Trials and 5km in the Mother’s Day Classic supporting breast and ovarian cancer research.
But aesthetically? Well… let’s just say they weren’t exactly the ones I would have ordered.
I was hoping for elegant, slender, dainty feet.
Instead, I got wide, hairy, hobbit-esque feet with stubby toes where, quite frankly, you don’t paint the toenail on the little toe - you paint the skin around where the toenail should theoretically be.
Honestly, I think Frodo would happily welcome me into the Shire with these hooves. 😂
Moving upwards…
My ankles.
These things supported me through years of sport, gym sessions, ridiculously high stilettos, dodgy kerbs that threatened to take me down, and childhood trampoline adventures with my younger brothers, where I would attempt to launch them into orbit because “it was still my turn”.
Did they ever fail me?
Not once.
Would it have been nice if they were visible rather than creating the illusion that my calf simply merged directly into my foot?
Absolutely.
The dreaded cankle. A classic.
Then there’s my soft belly. And this one is complicated.
Because this belly gave me the greatest gift I could ever have asked for: my beautiful son, Harry.
He is my absolute world. Such a wonderful, kind, and caring human being. I couldn’t be prouder of the person he has become.
He has also been my biggest supporter throughout this whole cancer blip, somehow making some of the darkest moments lighter with his teenage boy humour.
Because apparently farts will always be funny, Mum.
Always.
But I can’t deny that I have looked down at the softness, the stretch marks, and the changes left behind from pregnancy and wished that one of my previous surgeries had come with an unexpected “bonus mummy tuck”.
No such luck.
My skin has always been soft and mostly spot-free (although chemo has taken that softness to a whole new level. Seriously, I’m smoother than a freshly polished bowling ball these days).
But it has also collected its own little roadmap of life.
The dimples of cellulite.
The scars from second- and third-degree burns covering 10% of my body.
The marks left behind from misadventures and questionable decisions.
And honestly?
I love that those marks tell a story.
I do, however, have more chins than I would like.
A head shape that is basically a tennis ball.
Hair that started giving up on its colour long before I was ready for it.
And teeth that clearly never received the memo about social distancing.
But I do acknowledge that with that same head, with all its perceived imperfections, it has achieved some pretty wonderful things too.
It somehow managed to attract the most incredible husband a girl could ever ask for.
Seriously, I won the relationship lottery with Tim, so everyone else can back away slowly.
It has housed a brain that has contributed to countless quiz nights, escape rooms, and random useless facts that occasionally become useful.
It has ears that allowed me to learn piano simply by hearing a song.
And it has a mouth that has created laughter, told stories, shown love, and occasionally yelled “F*** you!” while hanging halfway out the window because someone was tailgating my learner driver son.
(Yep… still not invited back into his car…) 😐
So yes, I have critiqued almost every part of my body at some point.
I have wished things were different.
I have compared.
I have found flaws.
But I have also appreciated it.
I have celebrated it.
I have loved it.
Because this body has done some truly remarkable things.
It has survived.
It has healed.
It has adapted.
It has carried me.
Which is why I have been surprised by how deeply I am feeling the loss of my breasts.
Because the strange thing is…
They were never one of the parts of my body I wanted to change.
They weren’t something I wished away.
They weren’t something I criticised every time I looked in the mirror.
They were actually one of the very few parts of my body that I genuinely loved.
And perhaps that is why this feels so different.
I was happy with them.
I accepted them.
I appreciated the way they looked and the way they were part of me.
(Thanks to God… or my parents… although that second option feels a little awkward to acknowledge. Moving right along.)
They made me feel feminine.
They made me feel womanly.
They were simply a part of me that I never felt the need to apologise for.
The only other body part I have always genuinely loved?
My eyebrows.
Obviously.
Those little things have personality. They can communicate an entire conversation without a single word being spoken.
Although chemo has temporarily stolen their glory, and I am eagerly awaiting their triumphant comeback.
Perhaps part of this sadness is because I have read that some people describe a mastectomy as an amputation.
I’m not sure that is the word I would personally choose, but I do understand the sentiment.
Because this is more than losing tissue.
It feels like losing a part of my identity.
A part of my femininity.
A part of the version of myself I have known.
And when people say things like:
“You get a free boob job out of it!”
“At least they’ll be perky again!”
“You can finally burn the bras!”
I know these comments come from a place of kindness.
People are trying to find a positive in a situation that really doesn’t come with many obvious positives.
But the reality is, this isn’t a boob job.
A breast augmentation and a mastectomy are completely different things.
An augmentation is undertaken to enhance something you already have.
A mastectomy is the removal of breast tissue, often including the nipple and surrounding structures, because that tissue has become a threat to your life.
It involves major surgery, reconstruction, recovery, scars, drains, physical changes, emotional changes, and learning to recognise yourself again.
And often, it is not a choice, but a necessity for survival.
And I think that is the part I am still trying to process.
These breasts have been something I loved.
They have been part of some of my happiest memories.
They have been a part of my womanhood.
They helped feed and nurture my child.
They even occasionally helped me secure a free drink.
They have done their job.
But they have also decided they would like to kill me.
And unfortunately, that is why our relationship must end.
But before they go, I decided I wanted to capture them.
To capture me.
A little memento of this version of myself before everything changes.
My first thought was to ask Tim to take the photos.
However, after hearing some of the commentary that followed, I quickly realised that the final product may not quite match the creative, emotional vibe I was aiming for.
(Or wholesome...) 🫣
Thanks to a lovely colleague’s recommendation, I was instead able to book a private professional photoshoot with a wonderful photographer who completely understood the brief and brought her creative flair to all the right places.
And I felt beautiful.
Not despite my body.
Because of it.
It was the perfect way to say goodbye to myself as I know myself today.
Interestingly though, it also served as an unexpected reminder that my body is just one part of me.
That whether I have natural or reconstructed breasts.
Whether I have scars or smooth skin.
Whether parts are real, rebuilt, missing, or changed.
I am still me.
I am still beautiful.
I am still loved.
I am still here.
And I am ready for whatever comes next.
There will be physical healing.
There will be adjustment.
There will probably be moments of looking in the mirror and thinking, “Well… that’s different.”
There may be frustration, tears, and a few “what the hell happened here?” moments.
But there will also be plenty of love, laughter, support, and the reminder that my femininity was never held solely in a body part.
This body has changed many times before.
It has scars.
It has adapted.
It has survived.
And it will do it again.
So while today is goodbye to one version of me, it is not goodbye to who I am.
I’m still me.
Still sarcastic.
Still stubborn.
Still occasionally inappropriate.
Still hilarious (IMO).
And again - I’m still here.
Gosh, I can’t say that enough.
Oh, and no, I am not cruel.
I will let Tim take a few photos for his personal archives beforehand…
Purely for historical purposes, obviously.
But I cannot wait to share the professional ones on here soon.
They will become the beginning of a visual timeline documenting surgery, reconstruction, healing, and everything that comes after.
A way for me to see how far I’ve come and keep a record of this very strange little blip - somewhere I can return to even once I stop sharing it publicly.
Because as much as I’ve enjoyed my little corner of oversharing on the internet (though I’m sure some of you are thinking, “Cloe, we get it… you have cancer and boobs… please stop writing essays” 😂), one day this blog will simply become a little personal and private reminder of that weird cancer blip that briefly interrupted life.
So for now…
Ta ta for now, boobs.
Thanks for the mammaries. It's been fun.💗
P.S. A special thank you to the wonderful staff at Mecca Joondalup, who, after hearing why I had booked in to have my brows, lashes, and makeup done before the photoshoot, surprised me with a gift box full of goodies and well wishes for my surgery and the road ahead.
I cried, they cried, we hugged… and then we did it all again at the end of the appointment.
Thank you for your kindness, support, and for making me feel beautiful.
P.P.S. And to my dear family and friends - thank you for all your beautiful messages and well wishes, for sharing your advice and wisdom from those who have travelled this road before me, and for the thoughtful hospital goodies to help me pack my bag.
I love you all dearly. 💗
This blog is to allow me to write a little more about it along the way. Partly to keep friends and family updated, and partly because writing has always been how I make sense of things.
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