Prosthetic ramblings

I have wondered, periodically, over the last 7 years about an issue that I don't remember as being addressed by anyone at the Cancer Center...

Why is it that we females who have had a mastectomy (or 2) feel impelled by something in our psyches to wear a prosthesis, get implants or whatever to replace the missing bits?

Is the appearance of having 2 boobs so vitally important?

If it is, why? Where the heck did this seemingly unconscious reaction originate?

There must be a cultural trigger, back in our brains, which makes it almost impossible for a woman to go out and about without that fake boob. I have that trigger, too, so I'm not immune. I have been examining my reactions and trying to figure out just what it is that causes me to be uncomfortable out and about with only one boob. That's not rational. It just isn't. How did I end up with that irrational impetus?

In some cases, a woman may deny that she has on a prosthesis, even to those that know her history. For instance, my aunt had a double radical mastectomy back in the 60s and nary a word was spoken of it until some years after her death. If she had been quizzed about it, I doubt she would have admitted to wearing two inflatable boobs.

I believe this is a Janus-situation, two faces of the same issue.

On one hand, we are culturally acclimated to place a value on those boobs above all actual valuation. What are they good for, in the end? For a few short years, they may provide sustenance to young'uns, true. But, other than that, what actual use are they to us? Do we reflect inside ourselves a seeming fixation that some, not all, males have with boobs? Is our reaction a sort of self-defense against being ugly, unsexy and, therefore, unwanted and unloved? If we are lucky enough to have someone in our lives who honest-to-god doesn't care whether that boob[s] is there,** then what is the social impetus for insisting on wearing the prosthetics out in public? Who the heck are we trying to impress? Do we seek approval from strangers? What the heck does approval or acceptance from a stranger who we will probably never see again mean, in thy end?

On the other hand, we are ashamed, for absolutely no reason at all, that we had breast cancer in the first place.* It's not as if we did anything horribly wrong to have this inflicted on us. We didn't intend for this to happen. It wasn't a conscious decision on our parts. So, why in heaven's name, are we ashamed about it? A diagnosis of b.c. seems to carry a stigma with it that some forms of cancer simply do not. If a man is diagnosed with prostate cancer, is he ashamed about it? I really don't know because I don't know anyone who currently has it. If someone has liver, kidney, lymphatic, cancer, they don't behave as if there is some horrible curse hovering over them.
Does this reflect on our puritan roots? "The curse causeless does not come.." for instance. When this line of thought is carried through, it may lead to a conclusion that certainly doesn't do our society, or humanity in general, justice.

In the not-so-distant past, the only real value a woman had was to produce children. Honest! If there were no children, divorce was imminent. (think of Henry XIII in this respect.) In some societies, stoning was and maybe still is, the punishment for a barren woman. Property of the male, indentured to bear child after child until worn out and aged. No progeny? Woman dies in childbirth? Woman loses attractiveness? Hell, get another one, there's plenty of them out there. A woman who did not produce those vital children (preferably males) would be seen as cursed, useless, or worse. Is our shame at loss of that bit a reflection of aeons of acculturation with this patriarchal idea? Is this what impells us?

Do we place value on ourselves as a mirror of other women's physical attractiveness? Do we compete in the marketplace, as on a slaver's block, to attain the males who will care for us?

I don't know. Honestly, I don't know. This could easily be the subject of a doctoral dissertation but I am unaware of anyone who has done anything of the sort. If someone knows of one, let me know?



* I must insert a caveat here. My friend Eileen isn't in the least embarrassed about her IBC. Nor about being bald. At least, not that I can perceive. Rock on, Eileen!
** Himself really doesn't give a flying f*ck about the missing boob. He honestly doesn't. We have differences that seem to be unbridgeable sometimes, but by god, I appreciate him for simply not caring about the missing bits. He doesn't care if I go with him somewhere without the prosthesis, he doesn't care if I wear it around the house. He actually thinks that it's pretty stupid to insist on wearing it when it's damned near 100 degrees and the thing just hangs there like a sweat-soaked small child. (thanks for that, Eileen. Good comparison, indeed.)