I never thought I'd be a woman with a nipple-less breast. But, sitting opposite a plastic surgeon after cancer surgery, listening intently as he described the process of creating a 'permanent outy' on my reconstructed right side, I realised that was the woman I was destined to become.
Starting treatment for breast cancer is like being dropped onto a fast-moving conveyor belt with no off switch. Calling the hospital to cancel my appointment for a nipple construction was my off-switch.
As I stand in front of the mirror even now, years after that decision, I know it was the right one to make. I don't look in the mirror and see cancer or suffering. I see choice. I see a woman who has been given a second chance in life – and who sometimes needs a gentle reminder of just how grateful she should be to be living that life.
My breast reconstruction
In place of a nipple, I have a saucepan-shaped scar fading on the fleshy mound masquerading as my right breast – and it is part of my story.
That breast was reconstructed with the kindness of friends and family, who, after hearing of the decision to redeploy my tummy fat to create the breast, sent me cake, chocolates and biscuits to ensure the surgeon had 'enough material'.
I love the fact I had a flat stomach (for the first time ever!) for a good five years following the tummy tuck that created my right breast. I love the fact the skin in the centre of the scarring started life on my tummy. And, I love the fact that tummy fat never forgets where it comes from and can grow quicker than my left side as a result.
Regaining body confidence
My body confidence has been hard won. I was the primary school girl with too many spots and a raised birthmark on her neck that turned too many heads. I was the teenager with straw-like hair (and that's before we talk about the perm phase). I was the adult who couldn't walk straight (I had my pelvis rebuilt in my 20s and when the surgeon doing my cancer reconstruction saw the scarring, he kindly offered to line up the tummy scar so it looked neat and tidy!).
I spent most of my life wanting so very desperately to fit in and to look right. But, what I couldn't see back then was that we are our imperfections, the things that life doesn't get right the first time.
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I love my body now because of its modifications not in spite of them, but it took time. I remember seeing my post-surgery body in the hospital bathroom just days after the operation. It was a mass of unidentifiable swollen bits, superglued scars and unwelcome drain holes. I cried myself to sleep that night.
Then, when I managed to navigate my way off the bed by myself, I made a conscious decision to love what cancer left behind.
A nipple was never going to change the picture for me. Yes, I do sometimes wish I didn't have to endure the pitying looks in the swimming pool changing rooms (I often resort to changing like a teenager by popping my bra over my towel before yanking it to the floor). But I don't look down and feel sad. I feel only gratitude.
To the outside world, I am just another woman with two mounds and a healthy dose of cleavage. That is, if we ignore the time that in my 'just say yes' post-cancer fog, I ended up doing an 'anonymous' charity topless photo shoot for a national magazine and discovered, on publication, that I was the only model without a complete set of nipples.
To me, however, I am a woman who only worked out how to love her body by nearly losing it completely. That's my secret strength. I know it is a privilege to be alive to write these words. And, I also know, I don't need a new nipple to cover up the past. I have a drawer full of lacy wireless bras for that, should I ever need to forget.
I may have lost a nipple. But, in so doing, I gained something I didn't think possible – the chance to look in the mirror and smile.
Jackie is celebrating being 10 years clear of breast cancer this year by completing a series of endurance challenges to raise money for NHS Charities Together, Breast Cancer Now and the Willow Foundation. Donate here