The Scars Where My Breasts Used to Be: A Young Woman’s Journey Through Breast Cancer and a Double Mastectomy

 

I’m 29 years old, and I have breast cancer. 

Three words I never thought I’d say. Not this young anyway. Not with my whole life supposed to be just beginning. I don’t even have any family history of it; it makes no sense. 

 

A month ago, I had a double mastectomy. 

It stole both breasts from me. 

The nurse asked if I wanted to see the scars. But I just couldn’t face it. 

I told her I was fine. Putting a brave face on. It’s just what you do, isn’t it? 

 

What I actually wanted to do was scream. 

Not because of the pain, no, I could handle that. But because it felt like someone had stolen something that made me feel like me. 

 

People tiptoe around it, like they’re afraid of saying the wrong thing. 

“You’re so brave.” 

“You’re still beautiful.” 

“At least you caught it early.” 

 

I’m sick of the sympathy, the lies, I know I’m not the person I was two months ago. I’m a shell of the person I used to be. 

 

But no one tells you what it feels like to look in the mirror and not recognise your own body. 

No one warns you that you’ll mourn your breasts like a death, not because of vanity, but because they were mine. They were part of how I moved through the world. How I dressed. How I loved. How I felt sexy and soft and strong all at once. 

 

Now, when I run my hand over the scars, I feel hollow. 

I feel unfamiliar. 

Like I’m learning to live inside a new skin. 

 

I’ve avoided intimacy since the surgery. 

My boyfriend has been kind, gentle, patient, everything I could ask for. He calls me a warrior. But I flinch when he touches me, even over my baggy clothes. He deserves better, I keep telling him that, but he refuses to leave. Somehow, it would be easier if he just left, even though I love him. 

 

Make that make sense, because I can’t. 

 

I cried yesterday in the changing room of a lingerie shop. 

I’d gone in with my friend, finding myself forgetting I don’t need a bra anymore. I saw a pretty lace one in blush pink and touched it like it might burn me. The woman behind the counter smiled and said, “That would look lovely on you.” 

I smiled back, then walked straight out and sobbed in my friend's car. 

 

Because no one tells you how grief works when you’re grieving something no one else can see. 

 

There’s no funeral for your breasts. 

No eulogy. 

Just a body you have to relearn how to love. 

 

One day, maybe. 

At Academy Care, we believe in empowering individuals to maintain their independence while receiving the compassionate support they need. Our tailored domiciliary care services are designed to fit seamlessly into your loved one's life, providing everything from occasional visits to full-time live-in care. 

 

 

📞 Call us today at 01924 925 244 

📧 Email us at admin@academycare.co.uk 

 

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