More Than A Handful: A Mastectomy Memoir

Like most girls growing up in the 1970s and 80s I prayed for large bosoms. It would have been strange or bloody minded of me not to. We were surrounded by women who looked fantastic, but not like the ones in the Co-op. Miss World was a yearly TV staple and women showed their credentials in a swimsuit parade.For a start, a newspaper I’m not inclined to endorse, boldly displayed ordinary young women on page 3. We all know that the most expensive pages of magazines and news papers are the ones on the right. This is the second most esteemed page in a paper. The most famous topless model of my childhood, Sam Fox (yes really – Fox if you are haply ignorant) was introduced with the headline ‘Sam, 16, Quits A-Levels for Ooh-Levels’. That’s right, 16. Upstanding members of the working classes, your father, your electrician, your maths teacher or your driving instructor, might have ogled Sam’s boobs. I think we can all breathe a sigh of relief at how times have changed.

I write all this to give you the preamble to the event – the mastectomy. Boobs were big back in the day. I still feel weirdly flushed when I watch Buck Rogers and see Wilma in that white jumpsuit. Although truth be told, I was more interested in playing catch with Twiki. But you know what I mean – as young as I was, I knew what sexy was and I knew that bosoms played a huge part in this, I just hadn’t worked out the whys and wherefores. Being indoctrinated in this way left its psychological scars when the disappointment of puberty gifted me a size A cup. You can guess the rest of the story – the odd ugly comment from boys at middle school, the shame of having to go bra shopping – in reality I never grew out of the starter bra. The average cup size in the UK is 36DD, so it is understandable that I have boob envy. Consequently, breasts are not just skin and fat, but weapons of mass seduction – controlled by patriarchy. So when you are faced with losing a breast or two, the impact is not just physical, it is psychological and it changes your identity. Like all illness and struggle, reforming and rebuilding your sense of self is central to a healthy recovery.

This blog is my view and my journey. The journey began in summer 2023, and now, as I move towards spring – I can begin to record the events so far. I don’t aim to give advice – I can only describe what has happened and hope that someone finds it interesting. Sylvia Plath said, “I write only because there is a voice within me that will not be stilled.” The voice in me has been whispering at every examination, at every car journey to hospital, in every waiting room, and so this is catharsis, for me, and for anyone else who needs it too. I was forced to contemplate my bosom and behind it I have found an honest, beating heart.