If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that my story is “unbelievable” I would not be raising funds to solve the problem that is literally killing me. I launched my lifestyle company Sick Titties to share my story and raise funds and awareness for a community to support women with Breast Implant Illness (BII).
Yes, I am one of those women.
This mission is very personal. This is the disease that I am currently battling. As I set out to raise public awareness of the problem, I was petrified. I expected to hear people blame me and judge me because I chose to get implants. Regrettably, many people type ladies like me as superficial plastic chicks not worthy of intellectual or financial debate.
To begin sharing my story, I prepared the facts and an elevator pitch. I had a mission, but I was emotional and raw. I fought through the emotions and slowly connected with people who heard why I was fighting for Full Disclosure and said they wanted to help. I found myself feeling uncomfortable as I felt this new sense of connection, after so long being lost and alone in the fight to save my life.
I also was not sure to trust, as I was dealing with a serious and separate legal battle with bad actors everywhere.
Nevertheless, I optimistically offered to include my new supporters in the new company my partner and I were working so hard to build. I issued contracts and opened my story and my heart to them, which for me was not easy.
One of the most difficult things BII patients face is being doubted and told we are making up our symptoms. Doctors send us home, telling us to get counseling or change our diet. We are informed that our complaints are merely anxiety. The surgeons discredit the illness we are reading about in documents being published by the FDA. They are trying to prove their business is not killing women.
We fought this for over a decade until finally one day, BII was classified as a real disease. At that point, I thought I was magically going to be cured. The years in the hospital, the endless surgeries, infections, and disability would be over!
I quickly learned, however, that the process of diagnosing, treating. and preventing the cancer associated with BII is still an anomaly that only a certain type of rare doctor can navigate. As I started to learn the cost and insurance process I was crushed. It was another $25,000 to get my treatment done, and the process was still unclear.
So many options. I followed my gut and found an attorney, and overnight became the Erin Brockovich of Boobs. This was not a title I wanted, but dammit, if I was going to fix this I was going all in. Talking about my tits after the #MeToo movement was not easy, but it was necessary. Over 10,000,000 women are facing this disease and do not even know it.
I knew what happens when David sues Goliath, but I had no choice. Was I scared and angry and sad at what I found out? Fuck Yeah! I hated finding out that all of my troubles could have been prevented. I questioned why I was not given the full disclosure of the risks associated with these implants and why I was continuously sent home when they knew my complications could happen?
When I created Sick Titites and signed on to tell my story I had one mission: SCREAM THE TRUTH AND SAVE WOMENS LiVES!
What I did not predict was the gaslighting and battles with the doctors was nothing compared to what I would face as a plaintiff fighting for my rights. As I took to social media I was terrified. I had been doubted enough. I was on a mission when asked to do a talk on Clubhouse audio app. I was shaking as I shared my story, crying initially. I was overwhelmed with other patients I met and people who reached out and wanted to be supportive.
There was also a dark side to sharing, one I did not expect. People I thought were friends and advocates turned on me and questioned everything about me, claiming I was scamming people. They attempted to cancel me in their online culture.
Being a strong woman, I thought I could handle this, but dealing with a heart condition and battling the jabbering online nonsense almost broke my heart. I felt so triggered being bullied. It made me feel worthless and alone. I have great friends offline who tried to remind me these were strangers, not survivors, but I was so sad.
Then the fighter in me rose up and I remembered what my mother taught me: There are moments in life where rejection is truly protection. I had to dig deep and fight the feeling of betrayal and exploitation and realize the message in the mean-ing, as their bad actions prepared me for the type of people I am going to face in my legal battle. The chatterers were nothing compared to the people who run the company that gets products into market without testing them properly and telling the patients the full risk financially and physically.
Those people are biological narcissists. They put profits above the cost of our lives and do not care about the impact they have had on millions of women and their families. We are not people to them. We are a serial number associated with an expiration date.
The social media trolls are social narcissists, a different version of the same bully, but those people I never have to meet in person. I choose who is in my audience and they are not it, freeing me to know when I am being unduly influenced.
As people begin to learn more about the BII issue and the women facing it, we all need to address the elephant in the room. IT IS UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE!
I wish I was lying or exaggerating. I wish the suffering, pain, and hurt would end, but it hasn’t. I will not stop until I can help connect the women like me who are suffering with a secure community, so they won’t be exploited or persecuted any more.
Knowing companies pay bad actors to influence plaintiffs is tragic yet powerful. Being underestimated is a blessing, not our curse. I learned a valuable lesson. Communities are unique when composed of people with a shared experience. The BII experience is not one I would wish on anyone, but we are a community bound by a strength, courage, and perspective that is empowering to us yet scary for others.
Losing your tits is a tragedy, but finding your heart is a blessing. Today, I know that the community I am part of is unique, under-represented, and full of sheroes I am very proud to know. To those who doubted us, sorry. One day, you too may face a horrible problem. If so, I hope you find the empowerment that comes in embracing and fighting the suck with others who suffer but won’t give up.
Until then, don’t judge what you don’t know. Walk in someone’s shoes before you attempt to give directions!
