Why I Flash strangers
Michelle is really proud of her chest – so why not show it off?
Tiptoeing to the edge of the hotel pool, there was only one thing for it… As I pulled my T-shirt over my head, gasps were followed by cheers.
Flashing my bust in a sexy lacy bra, I heard someone wolf-whistling.
‘You go girl!’ one of my friends cheered.
It was June this year, and I was on a hen weekend with my pals in Benidorm.
And what better place to proudly display my DD boobs than to a resort full of strangers?
But my raunchy lingerie wasn’t quite what it seemed.
You see, back in January 2012, my boobs had given me a scare.
I awoke one morning and as I re-adjusted my nightie, I felt something on my right breast.
A lump.
Diagnosis
With my family history, I knew it was serious.
My mum Kathleen died from breast cancer aged
49, after it spread to her stomach.
And my sister Deborah had been just 39 when she’d lost her fight with breast cancer.
She’d had BRCA1 - one of the gene mutations which make someone more likely to develop breast and ovarian cancer.
It was hereditary – and something that was always at the back of my mind.
But I’d never been offered a test for it.
‘I think I’ve found a lump,’ I told my fella Paul, now 58. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked. I nodded tearfully.
Paul was a great support when I was referred by my GP for several scans at Leeds General Infirmary.
And when it was confirmed that I had an aggressive form of breast cancer, he was my rock.
‘We’ll fight this together,’ Paul said.
Between February and May that year, I had eight rounds of chemo.
It made me feel sick and weak, and I lost all my hair.
Self-conscious, I felt anything but attractive.
As suspected, it was confirmed I also carried the mutant gene.
With three kids, Brett, 22, Anthony, 24, and Ellie, 11, my mind was made up.
‘I want a double mastectomy,’ I told doctors.
Losing my boobs was a small sacrifice if it meant I got to see all my kids grow up.
So, in July 2012, I had both my breasts removed and a full reconstruction in a gruelling 10-hour operation. ‘You’re so brave,’ Paul told me. But the breast cancer and all the treatment really knocked me for six. I had a long way to go to feel like myself again.
Still, with my family’s love and support, I started to bounce back.
Something was nagging at me, though…
‘I’m still at risk of getting ovarian cancer,’ I said to Paul.
The only solution was to have a full hysterectomy.
So, in June 2015, I went under the knife again.
It was a good job, as a biopsy on a lump they found revealed a cancerous tumour on my right ovary.
But surgeons had removed it, so I was cancer-free again.
It was confirmed I also carried the mutant gene
Time to celebrate
As the fifth anniversary of my breast-cancer diagnosis approached, I wanted to do something to celebrate being a survivor.
My boobs had been rebuilt with silicone implants to the same size they’d been before my diagnosis.
They were scarred, though, and I didn’t have nipples, as I’d decided against having them tattooed on after the op.
At the time I was sick of
needles, and I just wanted to focus on my recovery.
Now, though, I was ready. And I wanted something more special than just plain nipples – a very special tattoo...
I settled on a design and, this February, I had the first of the three-hour sessions at a tattoo parlour in Wakefield.
Of course, it was painful – but it was worth it! ‘This tattoo represents everything I’ve been through and survived,’ I explained to the tattoo artist.
I had to return every three weeks for sessions. But by June, my inking was finished.
My jaw dropped when I saw it. A perfect, black, lacy bra had been inked across my boobs.
‘It’s better than I ever imagined!’ I cried, thrilled. ‘Very sexy!’ Paul agreed. And I couldn’t wait to show off my new tat to others.
‘Ta-dah!’ I laughed, flashing at mates in the pub toilets.
Paul didn’t mind me showing people. Besides, I’d had the tat done to celebrate, so there was no point being shy.
And I wasn’t! My new tattoo seemed to give me a muchneeded burst of confidence.
Flashing became my party trick! But my piece de resistance was definitely by the pool in Benidorm.
My friends even ripped their tops off to join me.
‘Is that really a tattoo?’ a stranger asked. ‘It’s amazing.’
For me, it reminds me every day of just how far I’ve come.
Of course, I worry that Ellie also has the mutant gene.
But she’ll get tested when she’s older and I’ll support whatever decision she makes.
Cancer has plagued my family, but I’m fighting back.
And every time I flash my boobs, it’s like I’m sticking two fingers up to it.
Take that, cancer!