March 19, 2008
My wife beat breast cancer five years ago. Went
through chemo and radiation and ultimately radical surgery. Brave, lovely, and
lucky woman she is. But after the procedures, she said she was proud of her
post-op look and the zigzag scar across her chest. No new boobs for her. Moi? I
don't like going to bed with Peter Pan. We talked about this, and she wants to
stay scarred and boobless. I respect her wishes. It's her body… so no plastic
surgery. But I get weirded out instead of excited every time I see her nude.
Our love life has gone the way of her boobs, and I feel as guilty as hell
because I can't get over this. She will, however, wear boobs when we go to
weddings and other functions.
I Miss Her Boobs
I'm thinking the wife
misses her boobs too, IMHB, but she's concluded that implants and
reconstructive surgery aren't going to bring 'em back, only a potentially
uncomfortable, thoroughly inadequate approximation of her boobs. But I can
appreciate your frustration. If my boyfriend developed a life-threatening
medical condition and getting breast implants was the only way to save his life,
I would support him and hold his hand and go bra shopping for him while he
recovered. But I would be just as weirded out by his body with boobs as you are
by your wife's without.
But, um, that's really
neither here nor there—there are no conditions that breast implants can
cure (erectile dysfunction doesn't count)—and the analogy is totally
offensive, and I'm probably gonna have to disable my e-mail account for a week.
Other offensive analogies spring instantly to mind—how would I feel if my
boyfriend's ass imploded? How would I feel if he grew a mustache? How would I
feel if his body changed as he aged, and after a few decades together, he
wasn't the exact same 23-year-old club kid I picked up in that gay
bar?—but seeing as none of that will ever happen, let's set these
hypotheticals aside, shall we?
I'm vamping, IMHB, because
there are no easy answers. One might hope that your love for the wife would
trump your weirded-out feelings, and you would come to appreciate the wife's
boyish new body. Or her boy-with-large-zigzag-scar-running-across-her-chest-ish
new body. One might also hope that your wife's feelings for you might prompt
her to see her boobs as something that brought you joy, not just as the part of
her body that attempted to kill her, and that she might be willing to get
breast implants for your sake. Because although it's her body—and it is,
it is—you also have a stake in it. Sometimes, you know, literally. Anyway…
But you can't get over it
and she sees her new body—and perhaps the victory over death symbolized
by those scars—as more important than your shared sex life. So you're at
an impasse and the standard advice for couples at an
impasse—compromise—just won't cut it. ("Maybe just one implant,
honey? The left one was always my favorite….") The only other compromise is so
obvious and unsatisfactory—would she consider wearing her fake breasts to
bed every now and then?—that you've probably already discussed and/or
tried it. So, like, I'm really flailing around here. In fact, my flailing was
so obvious that a coworker—a straight guy—noticed and asked what
was up.
"Isn't that why God
invented doggy-style?" he said, after I read him your letter. "Just man up and
turn her over, dude."
That ain't much, I
realize, but I'm afraid it's the best advice you're going to get today. Thank
you for playing Savage Love, IMHB, and good luck.
I watched a video of your recent appearance on Real Time With Bill Maher,
and you appeared to be wearing a Queen's University engineering jacket. I was a
Queen's med-school student and am now an emergency doctor at the same
university and have seen those jackets around for the past decade—where
did you get that? Did you go to Queen's? Or are you just showing your loyalty
to a country that recognizes your marriage?