Normally my posts on this portion of Life Fur and Adventure are more inspirational and encouraging, today I bring you the dilemmas of a full figured gal and all the torture that comes along with being big busted.
My husband often makes fun of me for my sheer will power to find ways to mend or otherwise manipulate a bra to make it suitable support for the girls. Shopping for a supportive, pretty and functional bra is a lot like looking for the perfect man; it's nearly impossible to find *the one*. Bras are also like jeans, they are not made equally and sizes are NEVER universal between brands. When a girl finds *the bra* they will go to almost any length to find ways to make it last FOREVER. Until, the wooden roller coaster at your local theme park murders it.
So, yesterday I discovered a dime sized hole in the skeleton of my bra. It was beyond the repair of safety pins or double sided fabric tape. Not having a lot of time, I was forced to take the plunge and head to the local department store in hopes of finding a decent bra to hold me over until I could make it to Victoria Secrets.
I’m walking through a jungle of pretty lace and floral patterned bras but have yet to encounter a single beastly boulder holder. FINALLY, once I get down on the floor and I’m on my knees bent over the bottom row of bras like a plumber under a leaky kitchen sink, I find a single, plain black bra in my size. I grabbed my find and finish meandering through the remainder of the department. I didn't find any additional options so, I look at the bra in my hands and decide to commit as it seems "meant to be." I head to the register without stopping in the fitting room; BIG MISTAKE. Running late this morning (as usual) I fasten my new boulder holder, throw my Maxi dress on and head out the door. After getting to work the reality of the next 8 hours sets in. My treasure from the night before was meant to be alright, meant to make me MISERABLE!!! The straps are cutting into my shoulders like heavy grocery bags that leave your hands paralyzed and the cup size is nowhere near a DD; my girls resemble muffins in an overflowing muffin tin. Now I have a decision to make, grab something to eat on my lunch and suffer the remainder of the day under the abuse of my new bra or embark on a rescue mission to Victoria Secrets to save my girls from any further poking, squishing or squeezing. Victoria Secrets it is; a proper fitting, lifesaving support system for the girls is a MUST. Hunger will have to wait, the ta-tas are suffocating.
 Click here to shop for a Victoria Secret Bra on Amazon!
I also learned that you can buy Victoria Secret bras through Amazon! That's great news for me because I strongly dislike the mall!
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 "Sorry, there's no heartbeat." I image there are several if not hundreds of phrases that could fulfill that challenge: “Smallest caskets weigh heaviest” “Broken hearts never heal” “I’m sorry, it’s cancer” "Life was too short" “Death did us part” "Feeling them slip away" Four. Little. Words. All it takes to sum up the worst moments of someones life. So simple, yet so powerful. It's been a week since my Hysteroscopy, D&C and extraction surgery and despite the relief I feel knowing this chapter of our lives has come to a close, I am also sad and confused. It feels a lot like being stuck in the middle of a pool; your toes can just touch the bottom but the slightest wave makes the water rise over your head. You catch your breath just in time for the air to escape again. The procedure itself went off without any hiccups, but it wouldn't be a true Bri adventure without a little drama. Coming out of anesthesia I bit down on the breathing tube while simultaneously trying to drawn in air. I drew moisture out of the surrounding blood cells and flooded my lungs with fluid; pulmonary edema. I woke up choking, unable to breath and panicking. I have often had nightmares of drowning and lets just say it's the one way I would really hate to go. The late morning and early afternoon were spent recovering from the ordeal and convincing my doctors to let me go home. Tim and my mom were kept pretty much in the dark other than a vague phone call to let them know I was having a hard time coming around after surgery. While they sat panicked in the surgical waiting room, I was spitting blood into a bed pan and observing all the other patients coming out of surgery. The patient to my left had surgery on his foot; the one to the right had a hysterectomy. Across the room another D&C and diagonally a triple bi-pass. Some of us would be going home that day and others would be heading back to their rooms in the hospital but we all had one thing in common, we looked like hell. Hundreds of trees must be cut down to supply enough paper for the hospital to have every patients sign a HIPPA privacy policy yet they don't even have individual rooms for patients coming out of surgery. It literally reminded me of a scene in a war movie. Gurneys lining the room on all sides with nothing more than curtains to separate each patient. And trust me, those curtains were never closed. I could see/hear everything going on around me. So much for privacy laws. I was in recovery for several hours while they fought to stabilize my oxygen levels. I couldn't help but think about how I ended up where I was. How did what was supposed to be one of the happiest times of our lives turn into some of the worst moments of my life. And how on earth did I end up prisoner in a hospital bed, covered with a blanket speckled in blood and an oxygen mask around my face and up my nose? Clearly, I would not make a good long-term hospital patient. So now this chapter is coming to a close and I'm not sure where the next chapter will begin. Spring is right around the corner and the pregnancy bug is in the air. At least that's what it feels like. So many pregnancy announcements and newborn pictures flooding my newsfeed each day. While I'm overjoyed for my friends, each time I see a new announcement a piece of my heart wilts away like a dying flower. I would never wish fertility issues on anyone, not even my worst enemy and I know it's selfish and mean to feel anything but happiness and joy for others, but I don't understand why it's so hard for us and so easy for others. The thought of having to go through the monitoring, sonograms and blood draws to try and get pregnant again... I get stressed and anxious just thinking about the process. What worries me the most is the idea that even if the fertility meds work for a second time, there's no guarantee I won't find myself exactly where I currently sit. I know living in fear is no way to move forward but I also know that thinking this won't happen again isn't a healthy or rational approach. If we do move forward and try to expand our little family again, I need to prepare mentally and emotionally for whatever outcome may or may not transpire; good or bad. Even though my sad story starts with these four words, "sorry, there's no heartbeat," I know there's a strong heart standing next to me and if we can walk through this dark tunnel together we can make it through just about anything. To the start of a new chapter, where ever it may lead us...  "Two hearts bonded forever"
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Author#Writer, #blogger and avid reader. #Animal advocate, fur mom and devoted wife. Just your run of the mill #dreamer, chasing her dreams and hoping for the best. Currently Reading:
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