When I lost both of my breasts to cancer, I initially felt the shame of deformity in the presence of my fabulous C-cup friends in their summer tank tops and low cut shirts. Of course, not for long because shame is a ridiculous waste of my time. However, from time to time, and especially in summer, the absence of cleavage spotlights the contrast of my shape. I have a whole bunch of gorgeous friends who are in great physical condition. While they are not endowed with a large cup size, they are curvy and the presence of breasts adds a certain softness to a hardened body. I miss that dichotomy. I've worked out all of my life so I have a few muscles here and there and breasts used to soften that look. My outward appearance used to say, "yes, I'm a badass, but I'm still a girl." Now, it says, "I'm a badass and my biker girlfriend is going to throttle you."
A great rack gives you a sense of confidence. It earns you a spot in the club of your women friends who sit around and complain about how they wish their breasts were bigger or smaller or perkier or whatever. While it may seem that the complaints indicate insecurities regarding body image, it's actually a way to connect with other women and celebrate your membership in that exclusive group.
I used to sense the pity of others and endure the endless advice of which particular flavor and size of bolt-ons I should get. I opted out of reconstruction because I think reconstruction is oxymoronic. You don't reconstruct anything. You construct a prosthesis that helps you deal with the whole mess psychologically but really, it's a mask you hide behind. Therapy is much more effective in this case along with a husband who'd much rather have an original than some plastic surgeon's version of stomach fat. I've been flat and nipple-less for 4 years now and as we all go barreling into our fifties and gravity refuses to relent, I'm feeling like maybe being flat is not such a bad thing.
Dramatic irony is I have daughters. My oldest is now a c-cup which on a 13 year-old frame, almost looks obscene. They are perfect. Round, full of collagen and bounce, they are exactly the product I would look for if I were shopping for a pair. My daughter is proud of them (and should be for all intents and purposes). She likes to wear strappy tops and fitting shirts that accentuate her new curves. I'm torn between the role of being the mom who is consistently telling her to cover up, dress modestly, and quit flaunting her new-found squeeze box, and the mom who sees beauty and confidence and a gorgeous pair of breasts that if I had them, I'd show them off too. She is pre-disposed to breast cancer having a Mom who has had it. I say put those things out there. Be proud and show them off. Share them with friends. You may not have them one day, and what a pity to hide a perfect rendition of nature. My philosophy is not a popular viewpoint among the PTA moms.
"Your daughter is distracting the boys in class."
Nothing maddens me more. We wouldn't want boys to act with impropriety so let's cover up the girls instead of teaching the boys what's appropriate and what's not. Ugh. Seriously? I'm pretty sure video games and porn sites are distracting your son too, but no one is shutting THEM down. Okay, I get it, I need to parent better and teach my breasty daughter some social mores about not dressing slutty in school. It's really just me living vicariously through the fact that if I had a rack like that, I'd most definitely dress those things up and put them out in front. At 48, having survived breast cancer, it's easy to give a little leeway to breasts that seem to defy gravity. The good news for me is not having any means I don't have nipples rivaling my bellybutton. I wear strappy, tight-fitting shirts because I have nothing that will fall out of them and frankly, the comedy of people trying to figure out what's missing is a little entertaining. I double dog dare anyone to tell me how to dress or give me feedback about how NOT to accentuate my flatness. It's unnatural. It's an abomination but it's badass and the paradox is funny.
When I had breasts, you said to cover them up. Now that I don't have breasts, you don't want to see the aftermath of two mastectomies but you tolerate my tight-fitting shirts because after all, I had my breasts cut off. I love to watch people struggle with this. There is also the "discomfort" of talking about it. Nobody wants to ask the question. I keep waiting for someone to look directly at my chest and tell me I'm missing something. If people stare, I throw out "Is it cold in here?" I always get a nervous laugh. That is one good thing about being breastless. No high beams in cold weather, which also makes wearing a see-through T-shirt in winter a fun exercise. It's out of place. An anomaly.
My husband is conflicted. He doesn't want his 13 year-old daughter looking fabulous with a great pair of breasts. He doesn't subscribe to my philosophy of live life to the "fullest" with regards to my daughter's T-shirts.
"Really? You're going to let her wear that?"
I can't parent breast shame. You just don't get breasts like that for very long. Ten, maybe twenty years tops, before pregnancy and nursing ruin them and gravity sets in. I say wear 'em loud, and wear 'em proud, but as I've come to realize not everyone is savvy to my particular brand of evolution. While I understand being sensitive to the views of others and respecting social constructs that keep us all from acting badly, I also feel the reality everyday that our time here is finite and far too short. Thankfully, my husband balances my "in-your-face" femininity with the subtleties a good father has learned to refine.
"You both might want to grab a jacket."
I look at my daughter and giggle. I am glad for her and I know that my breastless look reminds her of both her natural beauty and that not everything lasts forever. Live for today and be grateful for an amazing set of breasts.
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