My Boobs Have Flown The Coop
It’s done. My boobs have flown the coop. And you know the biggest problem I’m having?
I can’t reach one small spot with my razor in the cavern that is now my right armpit and I’ve got a small garden of hair growing there. WTF???
But seriously, it’s done.
Is what they all keep saying.
Husband keeps saying, “put it in the rearview. Can’t wait to put it in the rearview.” Yeah, I wish. Actually now it’s in my purview because every time I take my shirt off, every time I pass a mirror, every time I get in the shower, they are right in front of me. Literally they are the actual front of me.
The pathology came back great, the doctor said.
My left breast was completely healthy! So smart to take it off anyway. So great that I amputated a healthy part of my body to ensure something that may or may not have happened would happen.
My right breast was riddled with very teeny non-invasive cancer cells. This is great news, she says. Nothing bigger than what we expected and now we’ve removed it.
You caught it early. It’s awesome!
And now you just have to take hormone blockers for 10 years and hope to god it doesn’t metastasize. No worries. You’re so lucky.
Fuck luck.
Yes, I’m here now. And the struggle is keeping my mind busy so I don’t stare in the other room where my husband and two children play and picture what their life will look like when I’m no longer around.
Because how long does a cancer free diagnostic last really? And how much of that diagnosis is really for the well-being of all those who surround the actual cancer patient? Because unless you’ve actually ridden this roller coaster, you don’t know the depth to which your stomach soars. Unless you’ve swallowed this massive pill, you don’t know how intense your gag reflex is.
However, my surgeons did do a fantastic job. Direct to implant. No second surgery for this mama. And I can hug my kids. And I can feel them. And I’m numb, but the numbness doesn’t extend to my brain so when they hug me I can feel their arms around my neck and their warm breath on my cheek and it feels as all-inclusive as it did before a part of me was taken away.
There was another part of me taken away besides just my breasts. The ability to ever think I’m just fine ever again.
I can’t reach one small spot with my razor in the cavern that is now my right armpit and I’ve got a small garden of hair growing there. WTF???
But seriously, it’s done.
Is what they all keep saying.
Husband keeps saying, “put it in the rearview. Can’t wait to put it in the rearview.” Yeah, I wish. Actually now it’s in my purview because every time I take my shirt off, every time I pass a mirror, every time I get in the shower, they are right in front of me. Literally they are the actual front of me.
The pathology came back great, the doctor said.
My left breast was completely healthy! So smart to take it off anyway. So great that I amputated a healthy part of my body to ensure something that may or may not have happened would happen.
My right breast was riddled with very teeny non-invasive cancer cells. This is great news, she says. Nothing bigger than what we expected and now we’ve removed it.
You caught it early. It’s awesome!
And now you just have to take hormone blockers for 10 years and hope to god it doesn’t metastasize. No worries. You’re so lucky.
Fuck luck.
Yes, I’m here now. And the struggle is keeping my mind busy so I don’t stare in the other room where my husband and two children play and picture what their life will look like when I’m no longer around.
Because how long does a cancer free diagnostic last really? And how much of that diagnosis is really for the well-being of all those who surround the actual cancer patient? Because unless you’ve actually ridden this roller coaster, you don’t know the depth to which your stomach soars. Unless you’ve swallowed this massive pill, you don’t know how intense your gag reflex is.
However, my surgeons did do a fantastic job. Direct to implant. No second surgery for this mama. And I can hug my kids. And I can feel them. And I’m numb, but the numbness doesn’t extend to my brain so when they hug me I can feel their arms around my neck and their warm breath on my cheek and it feels as all-inclusive as it did before a part of me was taken away.
There was another part of me taken away besides just my breasts. The ability to ever think I’m just fine ever again.
There was another part of me taken away besides just my breasts. The ability to ever think I’m just fine ever again.
But I’ll work on that.
Next step, going back to work and dealing with all the sad stares and alll the “wow they look amazing” and the “you are so strong”s. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I am fucking strong.
I am fucking sad
I do look fucking amazing.
Hearing those things is hard.
When I can work out again, I’m going to take dance classes. And I’m going to dance with such fervor and passion. I’m not a good dancer by any means. But I love to dance. And I love to challenge my brain. And I like to make myself feel good. So I’m going to dance. Until I can’t anymore.
I’m going to love until I can’t anymore. I didn’t get a death sentence and a couple of pounds isn’t going to change who I love or how much I love.
You will get through and you will move forward.
And days will suck.
Getting in the shower will suck.
But eventually, it might not suck so much.
And one day you might even look at yourself
After tattoos
And becoming artwork
And think, I’m beautiful.
And unlike anyone else who came before me.
Because I’m a unique motherfucker.
I can’t stop saying fuck.
And I’m ok with that.
Next step, going back to work and dealing with all the sad stares and alll the “wow they look amazing” and the “you are so strong”s. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I am fucking strong.
I am fucking sad
I do look fucking amazing.
Hearing those things is hard.
When I can work out again, I’m going to take dance classes. And I’m going to dance with such fervor and passion. I’m not a good dancer by any means. But I love to dance. And I love to challenge my brain. And I like to make myself feel good. So I’m going to dance. Until I can’t anymore.
I’m going to love until I can’t anymore. I didn’t get a death sentence and a couple of pounds isn’t going to change who I love or how much I love.
You will get through and you will move forward.
And days will suck.
Getting in the shower will suck.
But eventually, it might not suck so much.
And one day you might even look at yourself
After tattoos
And becoming artwork
And think, I’m beautiful.
And unlike anyone else who came before me.
Because I’m a unique motherfucker.
I can’t stop saying fuck.
And I’m ok with that.
Anonymous
I am a NYC theater educator, music director, pianist, health and fitness mentor, mom of two, and breast cancer survivor. Most of my life has been dedicated to creating safe spaces for young people to express themselves through music and theater.