8. Watching dudes get to second base with your wife, and how to not get weird about it.

8. Watching dudes get to second base with your wife, and how to not get weird about it.

Okay, fine, they’re not “dudes”, they’re doctors. But still…

Having a wife with breast cancer means you are no longer the only guy who gets to touch your wife. It’s open season on her breastal region, fellas, or at least on the region where the breasts used to live. And at every plastic surgery appointment, you’ll get to watch your surgeon, his interns, some “randos” in scrubs, inspect the former playground that’s become their worksite. Lifting, poking, wiping…

And the funny thing is, after about the second or third appointment, you’ll be fine with it. And when your wife started flashing her female friends so they could see the progress, odds are you’ll just shrug.

I know. How did this happen?

My wife has taken to calling them her “Skipper boobs” (Skipper was Barbie’s friend, and neither had nipples if you’ll recall). Which isn’t far from the truth if you overlook the shape and the scarring. And as the “expanders” are filled with each new appointment - they’re temporary implants that you pump up until the real thing goes in - I can start to see what they may yet become again.

And while the go-to joke with everyone is about how “BIG” do I want them to be, and part of me wishes I could snap my fingers and have this all over, it’s been fascinating to have a ring side seat.

I know, it’s weird. But it really doesn’t bother me any more.

Maybe it’s for the same reason why kids love to stare through the holes in the walls of construction sites… it’s cool to see how the stuff we live with every day gets built.

The human body is like some kind of self-repairing Terminator, but slower, and with boobs.

Yesterday, after the Doctor was done his usual handsy inspection routine, he moved on to the inflation part. Using both hands to push the handle down on a massive syringe to force the saline into the “expanders”, I made small talk by observing how you need strong hands to be a plastic surgeon.

“You want to try it next time?” He asked.

I so hope he was serious.

Not that I’ll take credit for the final product or anything, but it’ll be fun to be an “active” part of the medical team. And if that means watching people feel up the former home of my wife’s sweater puppies, then that’s just price I’m willing to pay.

Go team implants!

9. Musings on boob-fillings, party balloons and other distractions...

9. Musings on boob-fillings, party balloons and other distractions...

7. Making sweet love to the post-mastectomy woman!

7. Making sweet love to the post-mastectomy woman!