Last night, Josh was invited to a bachelor party.  NBD.  Josh and I have been together for twelve years; I’ve happily kissed him goodbye to his fair share of bachelor parties.  But as I lay in bed last night in silence and darkness, trying to go to sleep, I turned into a person I never foresaw for myself.

“Josh, I know this isn’t fair,” I started.  “I know that I shouldn’t even say this, but I’m worried about you going to this bachelor party.”

He propped up on an elbow, and I could see his open eyes through the darkness.  “What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m afraid it’s going to end up at a…”  My voice broke.  “…at a strip club,” I cried.

Josh knew exactly what I meant.

Boobs.

“I just don’t know if I can handle it,” I confessed.

Actually, I know for sure that I couldn’t it.  Just after surgery, I was having a talk with one of my best girlfriends (whom I love so, so much and appreciate!) about my concerns regarding Josh and my newly mangled and debreasted body.  I’ve never doubted for a second that Josh would stand by me and love me all the same (even more really) and keep accepting me for who I am, but I felt sorry for him.

Let’s be honest — We’re all adults here.  At least, I hope so! — it wasn’t just me who lost a pair of boobs, it was my husband too.  I worried about how a man would feel going through the rest of his life without ever getting to touch another breast again.  Also, men are much more visual when it comes to sexytimes and stuff.  Plus, boobs are awesome.  We all know this.

When my 93 year-old patient found out this weekend that I was, indeed, breastless (It was a long, windy, dementia-filled road for that to come up in conversation.), he immediately voiced his concern for my husband.

“Nothing for him to touch?”

“Nope, I guess not,” I answered.

“How has he been with that?” he asked with genuine worry.

“He’s fine.  And besides, I’m alive,” I answered as gently as I could.

“But I mean….poor guy!”

“Yeah, well, I’m alive.”

So it’s fair to say that I’ve spend some time feeling a little sorry for Josh (but not too much time because there have been a lot of other worries on my plate over the last year and a half and, besides, what really is most important is that I’M ALIVE, dude!)

Anyway, I spilled all these fears to my friend just after surgery, and she was, naturally, concerned right along with me.  Then, she came up with a plan.

“Maybe, when you feel like Josh needs to, you guys could go to a strip club together, and Josh could get a hands-on lap dance…and he can get it out of his system that way,” she suggested.

Not even for a second did I entertain this idea.  It was the most horrifying thing I had ever heard actually.  The last thing I want to do in life is watch my husband get his jollies from another woman.  Especially if those jollies are something(s) I can’t give him anymore.  To watch him put his hands on another woman.  Umm, no thanks!  That was not the answer.  (And to be fair to Josh, he was equally as horrified.)

I’ve never been a jealous girl, and I haven’t been particularly insecure.  As a matter of fact, before we had kids, Josh was the singer of a band, and women (girls?) would ogle him and flirt with him and throw their underwear at him (Just kidding. I don’t think there was ever any underwear involved.) right in front of me.  I didn’t care.  I really didn’t.

Well, once, I did.  It was when a girl was trying to talk Josh into her over me as I sat right next to him and after I had already MARRIED him.  “Her?” she said looking my way in disgust. “She looks like a librarian.”

It took all I had not to scream, “At least, I don’t look like a whore!”  I’m a lady, and I don’t say such things.  Also, librarians have to use inside voices.  I didn’t have to though because Josh very nicely PUT HER IN HER PLACE.

When Josh went to bachelor parties before, I didn’t really care if they ended at the strip club.  Although, more often than not, they didn’t.  I knew that they weren’t really his thing.  I was his thing.

And I still know that I am his thing.  I just can’t handle the thought of him in a strip club.  Be it good or bad or fair or not, I just can’t, and it really has nothing to do with him.

So when I told him last night that I was worried/panicking a little, he again proved to me why I chose him.

“Oh yeah, you don’t have to worry.  I already talked to [the groom] about it, and it’s not going to be that kind of party.  And if it goes there, I won’t.  I understand why you feel that way.  You don’t have to worry, Heather.”

Again, I get myself worked up over things that I need not get worked up about.

Also, so what if I look like a librarian?  Librarians are hot.  And at least, I CAN READ.

10 comments on “The time I cried over a stripper’s boobs.”

  1. Heather, Thank you for being so real. The thoughts you share are what probably most of us experience in our relationships after boobectomy. I gave mine up 11/14 and thanks to meds, sex drive has not returned either. Your words brought a tear to my eye but then a smile to my face with a chuckle. Although my guy can’t really know how I feel or understand that since my hair is growing and I’m starting to look normal some things just aren’t what they used to be. I chuckle because he loves the teacher/librarian look! Keep being real! And if you go for implants one day I highly suggest nipple tattoos! They look real but are flat and you can go braless without headlights. Silver linings can be little and numb.

  2. Heather, I had a lumpectomy and I still feel sorry for my guy. And me. Truth is cancer treatments have affected our sex life. Just the other day I thought of going to a strip club with him to try to wake up some desire (not for him to touch anyone) — like we would just walk in, we would see things flying around for a few minutes, and if nothing felt different, then we would leave. But after thinking about it, it occurred to me, that it wasn’t a good idea (for similar reasons you listed). I completely understand your feelings.

    When I was in college, I bought this pair of eye glasses (I don’t use glasses but I wanted them anyway) so I can look like a librarian. I like librarians.

  3. Hi Heather. Thank you so much for writing your blog! 🙂 It’s so nice to read something more positive and funny about what I’m going through, and it’s great to feel like I can relate to someone. I’m 28 and was just diagnosed in August with IDC. I too have had a whirlwind of treatment, including a double mastectomy, no reconstruction yet, and I began chemo last Thursday. The last couple of days have been full of yuck, but reading your blog has helped me find some humor and stay positive. It’s great to read your posts about life after treatment, too, because thinking about being “done” (at least as much as possible) with all of this is my biggest motivation! Thank you for sharing your story – it really helps the rest of us!

  4. I hovered over my friend ( /with 😉 on the sofa the other day. He stripped off my shirt and smiled, scars and all. We’ve come a long way from the pain I caught briefly in his eyes, pain not for the loss but for what I endured, the first time he saw.

  5. I totally get this. I like a younger person’s take on it all. Not much difference for older ones like me, believe it or not. I probably didn’t get the reaction or the support I needed and that’s water under the bridge, but you got a wonderful response and for that, you are very lucky indeed. I think your husband not only put that skanky skank in her place, but he also put cancer and the scars from cancer in their place. Good for him. Good for you, too. Thanks for your honesty and candid discussions.

  6. This post was funny…and totally understandable. Your guy sounds awesome. You are very lucky. Not only are my post cancer boobs with implants ugly and mismatched, my husband is an idiot! Not kidding. Why are we still together? Finances and kids, that’s it.

    What did my husband say in the first year after me losing a boob? “I like symmetry.” Gee, well sorry I can’t supply that for you anymore bud. I was too busy saving my life!

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