Quick show of hands: How many of you kids remember Glo Worms?
Hands of my fellow 80s babies should damn near be touching the ceiling right about now! It was the stuffed green worm with a plush, pajamaed body and an internal battery, that when squeezed, would light up it’s sleepy little face and comfort children across the globe when it was time to wind down for the evening. And who can forget that orange tasseled nightcap?
Though I’ve been saddened a time or two over the years for giving that little guy the boot, who would have ever thought that my body would one day have a Glo Worm of it’s very own? Two of them, to be exact! Oh, the things in life parents just can’t prepare you for…
It’s been exactly 11 months since my PBM and given that I’ve had 3 surgeries during that timeframe, I’d honestly thought I’d seen everything there was to see when it came to these “replacements”. But as they say, “Ain’t that the way the world goes ‘round?” One minute you’re spitting out the definition of a seven-syllable medical term (say that three times fast), and the next you’re standing in the bathroom in the dark with your step-mom, creating your very own form of perverse entertainment by holding up a flashlight to your boobs. That’s right. My very own Glo Worms.
Thanks to social media and my darling friend, Eryn, I was confronted about this phenomenon last night. I believe Eryn’s exact text was…
“Go into a dark closet and hold a flash light up to one of your boobs… Right now!”
Being the curious cat that I am, I leaped out of my seat and began my search to find the flashlight. Nine seconds later, I endured a second search to find a bulb in my parents’ house that was made after 1995. Naturally. Running out of patience and clearly lacking in the luck department, the second bulb I came across was just as crummy – probably because that one was purchased in 1996. My dear old dad came to the rescue with a brand new flashlight, LED bulbs and all! Trying to avoid his constant questioning about what we were up to, I finally shooed him away with our Glo Boob plan. Looking like he’d just been forced to chomp on a mouthful of lemons, dad threw up his hands and headed off to his music room. Smart move, Mikey. Smart move.
Seconds later, posted up in the bathroom, success was achieved! Kind of. Apparently it’s much more illuminating if you have the original silicone implants rather than the highly cohesive ones. Meh. The thrill was gone. My mother, on the other hand, still seemed intrigued. At least enough to try out the ol’ flash light trick on herself. Fail.
Emerging from the bathroom, looking like a child who’d just dropped her sucker in a box of cat litter, I asked her what was wrong. This is the dialogue that followed:
Anita: “Well at least your boobs light up. Mine don’t do anything!”
Me: “When am I ever going to be in a situation where it will be better that my boobs light up and yours don’t?!”
My family. Full of shenanigans.
If any of you BRCA babes have the time (or the patience to look for a teeny, tiny, working light bulb), go on and give it a whirl! You know you want to. Here’s a link that another PBM goer posted on Facebook the other day. These aren’t mine, by the way.
Breast wishes –