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Even though this app doesn’t show multiple schedules, the maps, personal schedule and Twitter integration are still invaluable. To download it, visit here.

WARNING: As with the my personal breast necrosis photos, these images are very graphic and explicit. They are not safe for work or young children. These are not my photos. They come to us from a regular reader who has asked that the images be contributed anonymously. I commend her on her bravery. I know how frightened I was of contributing my own photos. She feels that the more images of breast necrosis that are out there, the better for all the women out there going through this.

These photos are all post-debridement (the removal of dead tissue to create a bead for new tissue to grow. Though you can see the few remnants of fat necrosis in the Week 4 image. For those not familiar, necrosis is the black spots.

To see my personal necrosis photos, please visit here.

Her photos, along with a description, follow below.

Week 6-7:  Skin starting to form around areolas and outer edges of wounds sealed and starting to form skin.

Without fail, about once every two weeks I get an email from another woman who is terrified that her breasts are turning necrotic. These women tell me that they have been searching for some resource or some visual reference to show them what breast necrosis looks like. It seems that Boobcast.com and my personal photos is the only visual reference on the internet.

Until now.

One brave woman who has asked to be called Sweet Swede has sent me her breast necrosis photos. Those images, which are quite different from mine, along with her story,will be going live tomorrow.

Please visit the site tomorrow to see her story.

Sounds like something that should be delivered, doesn’t it?

Thanks to finally being able to get insurance, I was able to get a mammogram two days ago. There’s nothing wrong and I have no reason to suspect that anything IS wrong. But with my age (44) and my family history (Mom having had breast cancer), our doctor thought it would be best to have one done.

Digital mammography uses CAD (computer aided detection) to image the breast tissue. It allows for more density so that breasts don’t need to be turned into pancakes to be fully seen. It isn’t a comfortable experience, but it is easier to deal with than the prior type of mammography that required breast tissue to be nearly flattened.

I still maintain that the only thing that helps after a mammogram is a caramel frappachino. By the time I had finished my Venti, I was feeling much less owchie. Though I’m not sure if the Starbucks or the mini Red Velvet Whoopie Pies helped more.

Aside from the diagnostic aspect of finding a tumor before it gets out of hand, I’ll get to share some REALLY nifty images with you all next week. I got to see what the Twins look like on the inside and soon you will too! They’ll burn me a CD of the images and give me a copy of the report so I can ex plain what you’re seeing. It’s fascinating because, in these images you can clearly see where the muscle flap is in relation to the less-dense  fatty tissue. It looks like one of those Jell-O parfait things, but with boobies.

It has taken me a long time to not only reach this conclusion, but to admit it to myself. This may even sound shallow or inconsequential to you. It surprises me how long it took me to fully admit to myself the reasoning behind what I’m about to talk about.

My hair.

Yes. My hair.

I have been coloring my hair pink for three and a half years, if you were not aware.

It has taken me almost that long to recognize that the reason I did it was not solely for a scifi and comic book convention. It was mostly for camouflage.

At the time I originally dyed my hair pink, my chest had healed badly and I was deformed. I wanted to do something radical; something that affirmed that even though i was this misshapen, subhuman thing, I was still alive. So I did it. I bleached my hair and dyed it bright pink.  While the goal was to do something daring, I realized only about 6-9 months ago that I also dyed my hair as a means of camouflage.

Yes, the pink drew lots of attention. However, while I was silently screaming “LOOK AT ME!!!”, it was more along the lines of “LOOK AT MY HEAD! IGNORE MY CHEST! LOOK AT MY HEAD AND IGNORE THE FACT THAT MY SHIRT FITS WEIRD!!!

So now you know the REAL reason I have pink hair. I was using it as a distraction the same way a magician might use misdirection for a magic trick. The thing is that I have been doing it so long, it’s a part of my identity. I can’t change my hair without having an impact on my life. I don’t WANT to change my hair. It really is a part of who I am now.

But sometimes…just sometimes… I remember why I really did it and it saddens me… Just a little.

Relatively early on in the writing of this blog I met a woman who had gone through something similar to my own experience with necrosis. She did not have the complication of implants. Her complications were from cancer and radiation.

But now she has a new set of Twins and she it talking about her own journey. So please visit her blog and leave a comment for her. We all need support when times have been tough.

For the past few weeks I have been tacitly avoiding this blog. The third anniversary of the lift and augmentation that started this whole descent into nightmare took place no October 2nd. And while I LOVE the Twins, I’m so tired of remembering. I’m tired of evaluating my progress. I’m tired of all of it.

And so I resorted to the mental equivalent of sticking my fingers in my ears and yelling, “LALALALALALA!!! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!! LALALALALA!!!” There was also a major spate of shopping therapy. On the up side, I now have a kickass Haunted Mansion collection that will be a great investment for the future. And in the spring, once the seedlings have grown, I’ll have an amazing butterfly and hummingbird garden The down side is that I have completely neglected talking about how grief-stricken I still am. Being able to talk openly and honestly has been such an part of Boobcast and out of mourning and fear of more pain, I have not shared any of this with anyone.

In a way it’s a betrayal of the principles that I have held Boobcast out to be. It’s also been a protective mechanism.

So, here’s what’s new.

My areolae tattoos have faded. A LOT. I am NOT happy with this and I’m considering asking for a refund. I’m guessing that they’ll ask me to get a touch up done before resorting to that. The thing is, except for the defining ring of tattooing, the rest of the pigment is almost completely gone. So I’m not sure how much good a “touch-up” will do when basically the entire thing has to be redone.

The second new thing is that my husband told me that if I can reach my goal weight by the end of August 2011, he would take me to Paris. While this sounds incredibly exciting, I had to turn it down. Losing weight IS healthy. But it also means a reduction in breast size. The fat cells WILL shrink. With everything I have been through, that is the same thing as losing my breasts all over again. I know that doesn’t make sense from a logical standpoint. I just can’t make myself frame it any other way. And so, I’m not going to Paris.

I’ve only had one flashback in the last few months. Once again, the shower triggered a memory of flushing out the open wounds. My husband found me huddled in the corner of the shower, sobbing.

Good news is that someone I think the world of got to “motorboat” the Twins last month. It was the first time in four years. “What IS a “motorboat”, you ask? Thing of it as a zerbit for cleavage. It was so cool. I was standing in the Podcasting Track room in DragonCon when all of a sudden, I feel someone grab my boobs and squish them together.  Next thing I know, I was being “motorboated”. There is only ONE PERSON on the planet that does this and I had not seen her in a year. So I squealed like a cheerleader on game day, causing the ENTIRE room to drop what they were doing and look to see who was being killed.  It’s times like that I really love my life and my friends.

I have decided that I’m not ready to write the book yet. I still need to get the areolae crap dealt with and healed before I’m finally done. That may require me to wait a while longer. I have read that with regular tattooing, your scars have to be at LEAST a year old. While mine are, I would like to give it a little extra time. Not to mention, my schedule is stacked.

I’m blogging for the The James Randi Educational Foundation now and that takes up a good deal of time. I’m also traveling more these days And I’m part of the Speaker’s Bureau for the JREF, too.  Right NOW I get to go plant more seedlings for my butterfly and hummingbird garden. Life keeps me busy. It’s much preferable to the alternative.

My nipple and areolae tattoos have healed. Unfortunately, as I have mentioned in previous posts, there are spots that need to be touched up. They are much more pale than the other areas. Which led me to a really visceral reaction. This was comprised of “Keep that shit away from me!” and “Oh HELL no!”. Even though I don’t put much thought into what I’ve been through these days, I can genuinely say that I am TOTALLY sick and tired of being sick and tired.

This crap has been going on for over three years now and if I have to deal with one more breast-related issue, I think I’m going to snap and have the kind of breakdown that leaves me wedged into a little corner, rocking and sobbing. I haven’t had that level of meltdown since before mound reconstruction and I don’t really want to end up in that place again.

And so I will wait until I am mentally in a place where I can deal with more gauze and bandage changes. I am SO not there right now. I DO have to call Dr. Elliott’s office and let them know I’m going to want to schedule a touch up but that I’m not sure when my schedule will allow for it with the holidays coming up.

Logically I know I should just do it and get it over with. However, looking back at my posts about how sucktastick I originally thought my areolae tattoos were tells me something. It tells me that even then I wasn’t completely ready to have it done. It was the process of healing – AGAIN – more than anything that affected my attitude. Even though it is the last thing, I still have this voice in my head yelling, “Just how much MORE of this shit do i have to DEAL with?? Jezz! Can’t we just be DONE already?!?”

Even now as I write this, I realize that I have another post to write about how I have been avoiding dealing with the three year anniversary of the initial breast augmentation and lift.

To quote Captain Malcolm Reynolds in “Serenity”: “So here’s us; on the raggedy edge.”.

I was hanging out on Facebook when I stumbled across this post from a fellow blogger. It’s called “The Disease Called “Perfection”.

disease-called-perfection.html

Have Kleenex ready when you read it. And PLEASE, share it with your friends and the people you love. We have ALL at one time or another felt like this.

Here’s to Being Real.