The Bra Trying-On Safari

The Bra Trying-On Safari

🌼 Date: Saturday, July 25, 2026

⚡ Energy: Curious, awkward, and mildly attacked by underwire

💝 Status: Scientific boob-sizing mission

😉 Outlook: No bra was purchased, but many questions were collected

Today we went bra shopping.

Well, not really shopping.

Shopping implies I intended to buy a bra.

And let’s be clear.

I did not.

Buying a bra would mean I was planning to wear a bra, and I am not emotionally prepared to make that kind of commitment right now.

So this was not shopping.

This was a mission.

A scientific trying-on mission to determine what cup size I currently am.

Very official.

Very medical.

Very “Casey, hold my purse, we are going in.”

First of all, let me just say that these rocks on my chest, also known as tissue expanders, do not fit well into underwire bra cups.

No matter how much you try to make them conform.

No matter how much adjusting, shifting, scooping, repositioning, or silent pleading you do.

They do not care.

They are hard.

They are stubborn.

They are rectangular-ish.

They are not here for your lingerie expectations.

Trying to shove a tissue expander into a molded underwire bra cup is like trying to tuck a hardcover book into a wine glass.

It does not work.

It was borderline painful.

But we were on a scientific mission, so I continued.

For research.

For reconstruction.

For the greater good.

For the future gummy bears.

I picked a couple of different sizes and styles, and I also grabbed a couple of bralette options.

Just in case I ever get a wild hair and decide I want to wear something cute.

Or if I wear a top or dress that needs more of an actual boob shape instead of my current rectangular rock situation.

Because apparently clothing was not designed around medical chest bricks.

Rude oversight, fashion industry.

Rude.

Then came the trying-on escapades.

And boy, was it an event.

You would have thought it was the first time I had ever tried on a bra.

I was out of practice.

Which seems ridiculous because it has only been about eight months since I got to ditch the compression bras after surgery.

But somehow, in that dressing room, I felt like an awkward sixth grader all over again.

Like, what are these straps?

Why is this twisting?

Which hook am I on?

Why is this cup attacking me?

Why is my expander refusing to cooperate?

Why am I sweating?

Why is this lighting so rude?

The only upside is that this time my mom and aunt were not there to snap the back of my bra as initiation.

Small blessings.

Very small, but I will take them.

After all the trying on, adjusting, side-eyeing, and emotional damage, we did learn something.

My left side is currently about a C cup.

My right side is pretty close to a D cup.

Which is my goal.

That is where I started this journey, and if possible, that is where I would like to finish it.

I came in a D.

I would like to leave a D.

That feels fair.

Cancer already took plenty.

Let me keep the cup size.

So now it looks like plastics and I have some talking to do at my next appointment, because I have questions.

Imagine that.

Me?

Questions?

Shocking.

First question:

Can we just add more saline to the left expander to get it visually up to a D cup so the skin stretches enough to cover the implant when I go in for my exchange surgery?

That is what makes sense in my head.

If the left side is sitting at a C and the right side is closer to a D, then shouldn’t we keep filling the left until they look more even?

Especially since that side has the chest wall divot situation and the expander is filling space inward before it pushes outward?

Again, I am not a doctor.

I am just a woman in a dressing room trying to shove reconstruction rocks into bra cups and solve medical geometry.

Dangerous combination.

I know my plastic surgeon is a magician, and maybe she has a method that makes more sense than my Google MD dressing-room logic.

Maybe there is a reason we do not just fill until the outside looks even.

Maybe the exchange surgery is where she really makes everything match.

Maybe the skin, scar tissue, radiation changes, implant size, and chest wall situation all factor in differently than my brain understands.

But that is why I need to ask.

Because if there is one thing cancer has taught me, it is this:

Ask the question.

Even if you think it sounds dumb.

Even if you are standing there with uneven medical boobs and half a bra cup of confusion.

Ask.

Second question:

Why do they not have different cup sizes at the plastics office that we can use to get an idea of where we are?

Seriously.

Would that not make sense?

A little reconstruction cup-size check station?

A medical bra cup sampler platter?

Something?

Because going on a bra trying-on safari in the wild feels unnecessarily complicated.

I do not need to be wandering through a store with Casey, several bras, two expanders, and a full identity crisis just to figure out whether I am a C or a D.

There has to be a better way.

Third question:

When am I going to get the phone call to schedule my exchange surgery?

Because I know they try to schedule surgeries about three months in advance.

And if we are still looking at the end of October, then hello.

The time to schedule is now.

As most of you have probably figured out by now, I am not a patient with very much patience.

I want dates.

I want plans.

I want a countdown.

I want to know when the medical chest rocks are being evicted and the gummy bears are moving in.

I want to know if Halloween surgery is actually happening or if my whole Trick or treat, I’m here for my gummy bears plan is just sitting there unemployed.

The people need answers.

And by “the people,” I mean me.

Mostly me.

Today’s mission was a success overall.

Did I buy a bra?

No.

Absolutely not.

Let’s not get wild.

Did I learn that tissue expanders and underwire bras are natural enemies?

Yes.

Did I briefly return to sixth-grade bra awkwardness?

Also, yes.

Did Casey once again earn his supportive husband badge by accompanying me on yet another weird cancer-reconstruction adventure?

Absolutely.

Did I leave the dressing room with more questions than I had when I entered?

Of course I did.

That is basically the theme of this entire journey.

I go in looking for one answer and come out with three new questions, two emotional realizations, and a blog post.

But at least now I know where I stand.

Or where my boobs stand.

Or where my chest rocks currently sit.

Left side: about a C.

Right side: almost a D.

Goal: D.

Confidence: under construction.

Questions: fully loaded.

Bra purchase: denied.

Tiny Tina’s reconstruction saga continues.

And next week, plastics better be ready, because I have a list.

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💗 Tina –
One Badass Day at a Time