It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here. Which is good in some ways because it means I’ve been busy and not just moping around having cancer. Not that I’ve done a whole lot of moping, but there’s been some quality “under the coffee table time,” which I think is allowed (even in my family).
Primarily I’ve been working, writing stories about everything from the Hunger Games Workout to getting naked at the gym to Ashley Judd’s weirdly puffy face. I’ve also been running and socializing and swing dancing and doing a bit of dating here and there. In other words, wending my way back to my pre-cancerous life.
Or at least giving it my best shot.
But there are always reminders — and I’m not just talking about the new “pixie cut” or my flat-ironed chest. I’m flying to Arizona today which used to mean stressing out about packing and getting to the airport on time and worrying whether I’d be seated next to someone I’d accidentally made out with in college. Now that I have my breast cancer merit badge, though, I have new things to worry about.
TSA, for instance. Are they going to make me slap out my “gummi boobs” in front of dozens of passengers the way they did a breast cancer survivor from Charlotte, N.C., back in November 2010? Are they going to confiscate my prostheses as potential weapons of mass (transit) destruction? (Cue the fembot video).
Curious as to how other breast cancer survivors have fared while flying, I went online and immediately found a discussion board filled with posts from women with the exact same concerns. Some had indeed been subjected to invasive pat-downs and/or queries about what exactly they were packing in their bra (a question I haven’t had since seventh grade). Others talked about leaving “the girls” in their suitcase so they wouldn’t be grilled about the strange blobs on their chest after going through the body scanner. A couple (jokingly) talked about tossing their fake boobs into the gray plastic bins along with their shoes and purse and everything else.
I’m definitely not going to hide my girls away in a suitcase like some kind of illegal contraband. Likewise, I don’t want to have to announce to a complete stranger that my pretty Spanx bra is full of spongy silicone and not much else (although the thought of throwing my gummi boobs onto the conveyor belt with my bags and shoes and coat does have a perverse comedic appeal). On yet another note, I’m not too keen on going through the full body scanner, at least not after receiving 33 daily blasts of radiation this last fall.
Then there’s the whole lymphedema issue. Since I had lymph nodes removed from both sides (9 on the right, 3 on the left), I’m at risk for this crap. And flying, of course, is one of the big ways it can be triggered. Unfortunately, I remembered this about two days before my departure date, which didn’t give me enough time to find what’s known as a “compression garment,” i.e. a super tight sleeve (preferably in black).
So now in addition to worrying about the plane crashing (or the pilot or flight attendant having a meltdown), I have to worry about getting publicly outed by an over-zealous TSA agent and possibly having my arms swell up to twice their size.
On a positive note, though, Seattle is a sad, soggy mess while I’m headed for 85 degree weather. Also, more importantly, I’m still alive to bitch about all this stuff. ; )
Wish me luck, folks, and as always, thanks for the read. Also, if anyone has any stories to share about flying with fake boobs (or fake anything else), I’d love to hear them!
Double Whammied 