I Don't Have Breasts, But I Wear a Bikini Anyway — Because My Kids Are Watching

Two springs ago, I made the radical decision to have my breast implants removed. Though many women are choosing to have explant surgery, my situation is a big different than most. As a two-time breast cancer survivor, removing my implants meant I would be completely flat-chested. There would no longer be any boobs (or “foobs”) to hold up and fill my swimsuit top.

I had breast implants for almost three and a half years. I went from a natural C cup before my mastectomy to a D cup, thanks to round silicone breast implants after surgery. My new faux breasts looked absolutely perfect. I figured I would be a one-and-done patient. Since I didn’t require any further breast cancer treatment after my surgery, because my cancer was such an early stage, I would live my best life for a good 10 to 15 years before needing my implants replaced.

The fairy tale didn’t manifest. My right implant, which was placed on my cancer side, caused me constant shoulder blade pain that kept me up at night. Nothing helped — not chiropractic care, not physical therapy, not Epsom salt baths, not heat and ice, and not yoga and stretching. An MRI revealed nothing. Pain relievers worked for a mere few hours.

Then came the symptoms. The year before I explanted, I started getting sick and sicker. I would wake up in the morning, my whole body stiff and swollen. My toes would turn purple (yes, purple). I was anxious and depressed, exhausted, and I experienced heart palpitations. I was suddenly intolerant to foods I’d consumed for years — even healthy foods, like strawberries, seafood, and green tea. I felt like a walking zombie, spending many days bedridden. I knew my family — especially my four kids — needed me, but I simply couldn’t muster any energy to get out of bed.

I was diagnosed with “maybe lupus” based on my borderline labs and symptoms. I ended up in the ER with a pulmonary embolism. I remember asking God just to let me die in my sleep, because I was so tired of doctors throwing their hands up at my symptoms and giving me to relief.

When I discovered what breast implant illness (BII) was and how it manifested, I knew I had it. I burst into my husband’s home office and announced that I was explanting to flat. He grew wide-eyed, but in the coming days jokingly said to me, “I’m more of a butt man anyway.” My family was on board. I called my plastic surgeon and begged her to take out my implants and the capsules around them. She agreed, and we got surgery on the schedule.