Explore all your options. Breast Reconstruction is one possibility to consider. Amoena External breast forms are another.
The 8 most frequent questions we’re asked about Amoena breast forms.
Are Amoena breast forms safe?
Yes, Amoena external breast forms are a totally safe, non-surgical, way to immediately restore your silhouette and balance.
What are Amoena breast forms made of?
Amoena Breast forms are made from a medical grade silicone. The ones we carry by Amoena look and feel like a natural breast and will pass the hug test.
How do I get fitted for an Amoena Breast Form?
We’ll take care of you. As certified fitters, we’re specialists in fitting you with the ideal breast from that is right for your size, shape, needs, and preferences.
How do I wear an Amoena breast form?
You have options. The Contact breast form by Amoena attaches directly to your chest wall. It moves with your body. It feels so secure and comfortable that women often tell us they forget they are wearing it. With this option, you can wear almost any bra.
Or you can wear your breast form with pocketed lingerie, active wear, swimwear and leisure wear. Our beautiful selection by Amoena will hold your breast forms securely against the chest wall for discretion and comfort, all day. The pockets are luxuriously soft against your skin.
Do women of all ages choose to wear a breast forms?
It’s always been a very personal decision. But now that Amoena breast forms are so lifelike, women of all ages wear them. You can also wear breast forms while you decide if you will have reconstruction.
Do Amoena breast forms feel warm?
Amoena breast forms have patented temperature-equalising technology. The material in these breast forms absorb excess heat, stores it, and releases it when you cool down so you stay at a constant comfortable temperature.
What if I have a lumpectomy that leaves me with a significant imbalance?
We can fit you with the right breast shaper to restore your symmetry. These too feel lifelike and are invisible, even under the tightest tops.
Does Medicare cover the cost of breast forms?
Medicare will reimburse you up to $400 every 2 years and $800 for bilateral mastectomies.
The most important thing for you to do is find out all details about all your options. Stop by any time to chat. We’re always here for you.
We Are On A Mission To Help Mastectomy Patients In Fiji
Local Fijian women don't receive the same benefits as we do like the Federal governments Breast Prosthesis reimbursement program, the free Berlei bra from BCNA when they leave hospital, little if any health cover for bras and certainly nobody at the end of the phone to offer advice.....Here in Australia we get all of that and more!
Thats where we come into the picture! For 10 days starting in early May the team will be fitting over 250 Fijian ladies for breast prosthesis, mastectomy bras and regular lingerie.
Companies like Amoena have donated generous amounts of product but we still need more.
We are chasing donations of pre-loved Mastectomy bras from size 18 (or 40) upwards. On mothers day we will be fitting any lady who comes to see us, mastectomy or not, so donations of any pre-loved bras will be appreciated.
Donations can be dropped off at either Tracey G store in Auchenflower or Maroochydore or possibly be picked up if you can't make it in to a store. If you live in a regional area please consider posting them to us.
Every little bit helps so please check the bra cupboard and see if you can help us help them!
For more information please call us on 0466 828 144
Coping with hair loss from chemotherapy wasn’t in my life plan. My hair was my personal identifier: I’m the short woman with glasses and curly brown hair. That’s how I always described myself, occasionally adding the colour of my shirt or coat. People always found me when we were meeting for the first time, so I guess the description worked.
People always knew I was Jewish, too, which I always ascribed to my hair, though come to think of it, it could have been my long nose, also a traditional Jewish attribute. Everyone assumed I was sister to my cousin, just because we had similar long, curly brown hair. My hair was my ethnicity, my family, my identity – and my best feature esthetically. I’ve never considered myself particularly attractive, but I’ve always loved my hair.
Then I had cancer. And chemotherapy. And that’s when I found myself coping with hair loss. I lost every last wisp on my head and everywhere else, all but one oh-so-solitary eyelash. After all, chemotherapy is designed to go after fast-growing cells and, alas, both cancer cells and hair follicles fall into that category.
The consolation prize was the notion of ‘chemo curl’. Women who experience hair loss from chemotherapy often say their previously straight hair came back curly. So, you never know, maybe my hair would come back even curlier, maybe even thicker? How exciting! I tried to focus on the possibilities of an even-curlier future and turn my eyes (and mind) away from the present baldness.
My hair surprised me after chemotherapy
finished chemo and my hair started to grow back. At first I looked like I’d just left the military, then it grew in more and more. For months, I was loathe to cut or even trim it. It was my hair, after all. Something occurring naturally on my head. It was all I could do to keep from tugging on it like those Chrissy dolls from way back when.
My hair grew back straighter, though, not curlier. But maybe, I hoped, that was because it was growing longer than before. Surely the weight of the longer tresses was pulling it taut, making it straight. Besides, this was my ‘first hair,’ my post-chemo baby hair. Once this grew out and got cut off, I was told, I’d have my ‘real’ permanent hair.
Of course, trying to predict what that might be was a risky undertaking. What if it got, God forbid, even straighter? I’d be wondering at mirrors for the rest of my life. My solution: keep away from hair salons. If I don’t go near one, my hair won’t change.
But, you know, ‘chemo curl’ is somewhat of a misnomer. What it really means is that after you’ve coped with hair loss, the hair that grows back after chemotherapy is typically different than the hair you had before. Straight becomes curly and – gasp – sometimes, just sometimes – curly hair comes in straight.
For altogether too long, I hid my silky locks by putting them up in a bun or pulling them back into a ponytail.
Finally, I made an appointment for a haircut. I walked into the salon, got my hair washed, sat in the chair and took off my glasses. I answered the awkward question: How long has it been since you had your hair cut? And heard the inevitable warning: the ends of your hair are dead; I’m going to have to cut off two or three inches.
Ok. Despite the trauma of coping with hair loss from chemotherapy, and even though I now gloried in having hair again, perhaps I could help my curls if I took a little weight out of this new hair. Perhaps curls that were hibernating right now would emerge. Hope springs eternal – and maybe the curls would, too. “What do you think?” she said, a half hour later. I put my glasses on and looked in the mirror.
“Oh.” Pause. “I mean, it looks great, you did a wonderful job. I really like the bangs.” I was totally befuddled. I looked down at the rest of my body; had it transformed as well – was I taller and skinnier and maybe wearing a sapphire necklace? Oh well, a girl can dream.
Coping with hair growth, actually, after chemotherapy
My body hadn’t changed, but on my head there was some sort of alien transformation. My hair was straight, smooth, silky, hanging straight down. No bounce, not even much body. I looked down at my hands, then back into the mirror. Hair still straight. Wash, rinse, repeat.
So this wasn’t just about coping with hair loss from chemotherapy. And it wasn’t just about having hair again. All of a sudden, I don’t look Jewish, I don’t look like my cousin, I don’t even look like me. I mean, the person in the mirror is kind of cute – and I do like those bangs – but who is she?
I don’t think I said a word as I whipped out my credit card and signed the receipt. As I walked home, that woman kept popping in front of my face whenever I peeked in a reflective store window. I stopped for a quick errand, to pick up some toothpaste. But drugstores also sell mirrors. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that straight-haired lady again. Was she stalking me?
Straight hair is so direct, so clear. Honest and forthright, just like the word itself. We talk about staying on the straight and narrow, playing the straight man or woman, going straight to bed, thinking straight, even setting the record straight. Straight is so law-abiding and, well, straight-laced; it doesn’t do drugs, alcohol, inappropriate sex, or criminal activity.
The next morning I woke up, put my glasses on, and there she was, Ms. Straight Hair. But she had my face shape, the bags under my eyes, the forehead wrinkles. I looked away, then looked back. Still there, all bags and wrinkles.
The only bit of curl left in my hair now peeks out of those bangs on damp or humid days. Damned if I know what to do about it. Do I want to straighten it – how? – or do I want to encourage it, hoping those few locks will do a PR job on their compatriots and encourage more curls?
As time goes on, though, I find it’s sort of growing on me. It’s a way of banishing the horror of losing my hair to chemotherapy. A new look for a new life. Besides, I do like those bangs.
Beth Leibson lives and writes in New York City. She is the author of I’m Too Young to Have Breast Cancer! (2004) and The Cancer Survivor Handbook (2014).
"Love what I do"