Queen B

THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 2012 4:52 PM, EDT

The Queen B

I can’t remember the first time I saw my first Barbie. I imagine with an older sister, it was at a very young age. But I fondly remember many things about Barbie. Of course, she always had the best hair (except for my little sis Jayme, who has what I like to call Martina McBride hair because she can wear virtually any style), the prettiest make-up, and the sassiest wardrobes. But Barbie was more than just a pretty face (and a 17 inch waist) – she was a career woman! And she must have been pretty savvy because she had every job known to man (pun intended). She was an astronaut, a teacher, a doctor (or both the animal and people variety), and a rock star. She was the first thing out there that said that a girl could be beautiful and smart at the same time…she could be anything she wanted to be. Barbie was the Queen B.

My friend Anne had the best Barbie collection I have ever seen to this day. She had her Mama Marcia’s Barbie dolls, which were meticulously cared for. One thing about these Barbie dolls I will never forget because it seemed so strange to me at the time – Marcia’s original Barbie dolls had plastic hair. Yes, plastic buns piled up on top of their heads instead of long, flowing blonde locks that we are all so familiar with. And as Anne and I played with Barbie and listened to the tunes of the Beach Boys well into the 5th grade, I was mesmerized that in a trunk-like box, Anne had wigs for these plastic haired Barbie dolls. The wigs were coarse, but well-styled – bobs, pony-tails, and medium length hair styles, some with bangs. You name it, she had it. We could change the identity of those Barbie dolls in the blink of an eye…and we did.

I was at the Filling Station a couple of weeks ago – just a routine fill. Dr. Q and I got into a good discussion about nipples. He did say that he doesn’t normally have this discussion until he is prepping for that surgery (yes, another surgery), but that since I was inquiring, he would discuss it. When I told him I was done after the implants, he was horrified! “But that isn’t a finished product!” I’m paraphrasing, but for the most part he said that every surgeon wants to see the completion of his work…and in my case that involves nipples.

Forgive me graphic description here…but what “nipple” surgery is like when you don’t have any nipples is this: Dr. Q will take a piece of skin from my inner thigh. He will curl it between his sterile fingers, into the shape of a long nipple and sew it to a section of my now bare chest. This will conceal some of my scars. Over a couple of weeks, this skin graft will essentially dry out and die because it will have no blood supply, and I will be left with a couple of nubs of dead skin where natural nipples otherwise would have been. Then, after they are completely “healed,” I will get to choose the skin tone or color of my nipples, and they will be tattooed. 

Take it from someone who doesn’t have a tattoo because in 33 years, she’s been unable to commit to just about anything permanently – the idea of having lopsided or discolored fake nipples makes me want to crawl into a corner and draw up into the fetal position. As if the scars and fake breasts aren’t ugly enough, I have to be concerned with how my fakenipples are going to look? And I was just starting to relish the idea of not wearing a bra for the rest of my life. It’s been fairly nice up to this point, and I quite frankly can’t imagine going back! So I hate to tell you, Dr. Q, but I’m not convinced that this product is ever going to be finished! But trust me - I won’t see you as anything less than the miracle worker and artist that you are!

I returned to the filling station yesterday…ahead of schedule. It appears that Parker grabbed my chest a couple of days ago and may have busted (or at the very least displaced) my other expander. PITAs. So I return tomorrow, and I am expecting Dr. Q to fill’er up as much as I “can tolerate.” Then we will schedule my implant surgery! If you are wondering, this is a GOOD thing! These expanders are hard as rocks, and I cannot wait to have a softer silhouette. 

Logan, Parker and I went to Montgomery last weekend for Jayme’s baby shower (which was SO very nice – good job, girls). After all of the baby in the belly talk, we returned home. When I put Logan to bed Tuesday night, he cupped his hand around my expander, patted it and said, “You got a baby in your boobie?” It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I removed his hand, and looked at him. “No, I do not have a baby in my boobie.” To which he replied, “Your boobie is growed up?” I looked down at my numb right hard as a rock expander to find it covered once again by my 3 year old’s hand, which I promptly removed.  “Yes, baby, my boobie growed up,” I said as a tear rolled down my face. To me, this is a moment of realization that he remembers my flat chest over the last few months…observant little creature.

While we were at the shower, I told Mama that I was ready to blog about Barbie. She asked what in the world the Queen B had to do with breast cancer. Well, she’s obsessed with the color pink; she has perfectly perky breasts…and no nipples. (I had to remind Dr. Q that Barbie didn’t have nipples…and she was “perfect.”) It’s so obvious that she’s a Survivor, right?! As it turns out, that plastic-haired original Barbie must have been in the chemo stage. But you know what, it didn’t stop her from anything…she’s still evolving, and she’s still a rock star.