Trick or Treat, What Size Did I Get?

Trick or Treat, What Size Did I Get?

🌼 Date: Tuesday, July 14, 2026

⚡ Energy: Hopeful, confused, and mildly betrayed by bra cups

💖 Status: Another plastics appointment, another fill

😖 Outlook: Cancer messes with your mind, but it does not get to win the war

Today was my weekly plastics appointment.

Also known as the only appointments I now look forward to.

Which is weird, because they involve needles, expanders, medical measuring, and someone pumping saline into my chest like I am a very tiny inflatable pool toy.

But here we are.

Cancer changes your standards.

They were able to get another 150cc into the right side today, which brings me to 450cc on the right and 515cc on the left.

That means the right side is finally getting closer to catching up.

Progress!

Inflation!

Tiny Tina: Reconstruction Zone is still under construction.

Please pardon our dust.

But here is where things get confusing.

Even though the left side has more saline in it, the left still feels and looks slightly smaller than the right.

Which seems like it should not make sense.

But when you stop and think about where the larger tumor was located, it starts to make more sense.

The bigger tumor was on the left side and was up against the chest wall.

When they removed the tumor, they also had to remove enough surrounding tissue to try to get what they hoped would be a clean margin.

From what I understand, a clean margin means there is a rim of healthy, cancer-free tissue around the tumor after it is removed.

Basically, the goal is not just to remove the tumor itself, but to remove it with enough normal tissue around it so cancer cells are not sitting right at the edge of what was taken out.

In my case, I did not have the clean margin they wanted near the chest wall.

That is one of the reasons radiation was so heavily focused there.

Radiation had to come in like the cleanup crew and treat the area where the margin was too close for comfort.

Again, I am not a doctor.

I do not know every exact detail of what tissue was removed during surgery.

I just know the tumor was close to the chest wall, they had to take what they needed to take, and now I have a divot on that side.

So my left expander bag is not just pushing outward like a normal fake boob-in-progress.

It is also filling that void first.

Which means before it can look like a boob from the outside, it has to fill in the missing space on the inside.

Rude.

Very rude.

Until my plastic surgeon goes back in for my exchange surgery, I will have two uneven boobs.

That is just where we are right now.

But she has reassured me that she has the skills to fix them and that they should come out on the other side looking the same size.

She may have to use two different sized implants.

She may have to use something else to help fill in the void.

She will not know exactly what she needs to do until she gets in there and can assess the situation.

So if this surgery actually does happen around Halloween, it really will be a trick or treat situation.

I will not know what I got until I wake up.

Trick or treat.

What size did I get?

Also, please enjoy the fact that I may literally wake up from surgery asking about gummy bears.

Very on brand.

During the fill today, the nurse asked me a question no one else has asked before.

“Are you about the size you want to be?”

Before I could even answer, Casey spoke up and said, “No, and she complains about it all the time.”

Excuse me, sir.

Rude.

Accurate.

But rude.

So I told her, “I came in a D, and the surgeon assured me that I could leave a D.”

And yes, that actually ended up in my after-visit summary.

Somewhere in my medical chart it now basically says, “Patient would like her D’s back.”

Beautiful.

Professional.

Medical documentation at its finest.

I mentioned that I know the expander bags are only 550cc bags, and I am already at 515cc on the left side, so they are almost full.

I must have had a disappointed look on my face, because then she told us something very interesting.

Apparently, the expander bags are made to be overfilled by a couple hundred ccs.

Acca-excuse me?

They can go past the listed size?

That changes things.

Nobody told me the expander bags had bonus room.

Suddenly I felt like I had just found out my medical chest balloons came with expandable luggage compartments.

After my appointment, I went home and put on one of my bras from BC.

Before Cancer.

And my boobs barely filled half the cup.

Half.

The.

Cup.

I felt so deflated.

Not literally.

Been there, done that.

Deflate Gate already had its moment, and I do not need a sequel.

But emotionally?

Deflated.

I thought I was making such great progress.

And I am.

I know I am.

But standing there in that bra, looking at all that empty space, made my brain spiral a little.

I think I am maybe somewhere between a B and a C cup right now.

Maybe.

So this weekend, I may have Casey take me to the store and we can have a bra trying-on party to figure out what size I actually am.

Romantic?

No.

Necessary?

Apparently.

Since that discovery, I have been spending far too much time looking at myself in the mirror with clothes on.

Trying to figure out what I see.

Trying to figure out what I want.

Trying to figure out what will make me feel comfortable again.

With the amount of weight I have lost, do I need to be as big as I was before cancer?

With a smaller body, would I be happy with smaller boobs?

Would a D even look the same on me now?

Would it feel like me?

Would it feel too big?

Would it help me feel normal again?

Would it make me feel like I got something back?

I do not want to look like a porn star and have my boobs enter the room before I do.

But hey, if that is the look you are going for, more power to you.

Your body.

Your choice.

No judgment here.

I am just trying to figure out what will make me happy.

What will make me feel less self-conscious.

What will make me feel like I can stand up straight again.

Because I can already tell that my posture has changed.

My shoulders roll forward now.

Part of that is probably protective.

Part of it is probably from surgery, tightness, radiation, expanders, and everything my chest has been through.

But part of it is also emotional.

I think I am trying to hide my chest.

Trying to protect it.

Trying not to draw attention to the unevenness.

Trying not to feel exposed.

Trying not to look like I am still under construction, even though I very much am.

I need to figure out at what point I will feel comfortable enough to put my shoulders back and walk with confidence again.

That is the part people do not always see.

The mental gymnastics.

The mirror checking.

The questioning.

The “what size am I?”

The “what size do I want to be?”

The “what will make me feel like myself?”

The “will I ever feel sexy again?”

The “do I look normal?”

The “why do I care so much?”

The “of course I care, it is my body.”

Cancer sure does mess with your mind.

It does not matter how many times someone tells you how great you look.

If you do not believe it, you will not believe them.

If you do not see it, you cannot feel it.

If your brain is still stuck on scars, divots, expanders, unevenness, and missing pieces, compliments do not always land where people hope they will.

And that is sad.

It is sad how cancer can win some of these little battles.

The mirror battle.

The confidence battle.

The posture battle.

The bra cup battle.

The “do I feel like me?” battle.

But it does not get to win the war.

Not this one.

Not the whole thing.

I may still be uneven.

I may still be under construction.

I may still be figuring out my size, my shape, my comfort, my confidence, and my reflection.

But I am also still here.

Still healing.

Still asking questions.

Still making choices.

Still showing up.

Still getting filled.

Still learning what this new body needs.

And eventually, I will put my shoulders back.

Maybe not today.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But eventually.

Because cancer can mess with my mind.

It can mess with my body.

It can mess with my confidence.

But it does not get the final say.

Tiny Tina is still under construction.

The blueprint is still being adjusted.

The final materials have not been selected.

The exchange surgery may be a Halloween trick-or-treat surprise.

But the war?

Cancer does not win that.

Not today.

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One Badass Day at a Time