Let me introduce you to my two bosom buddies. Big Mountain is a hefty, triple D gal. Very productive and formerly perky, age, nursing and gravity and have weakened her integrity.
We’re still good friends, but she can be a bit of burden. Titsy, on the other hand, is pure trouble. A more modestly-sized, D girl, she caused
me problems as a teenager and more recently was pretty lazy about feeding my
two kids. It is Titsy, my left breast,
who has cancer and even though she’s a handful, I’ll miss her.
As a short, curvy girl, my generous boobs and long blonde
hair have always been a source of pride.
Some women are born with lovely long legs, lithe and delicate arms, high
cheekbones, or gorgeous skin. For me, I
have always been grateful that despite my short build, at least I was buxom and had pretty hair. The irony of cancer
is that I’ll lose both my hair and my bustiness.
Two common comments that I hear when talking to my friends
and family about my recent diagnosis is “At least your hair will grow back” and
“You can always have reconstruction.”
These comments come from a good and kind place. They want to see hope in a scary situation
and want to impart that hope to me. I
appreciate their love, support and concern.
However, in my stressed and probably overly sensitive state right now,
it’s hard not to hear it as slightly dismissive of what I’m going through. Yes, hair will grow back and reconstruction
is an option. But it’s not that simple.
Take my hair, for example.
Except for infancy and the two times in my life that I’ve cut my hair
(and immediately regretted it), I’ve had long hair my whole life. My sister and I both grew up with hair so
long we could sit on it as little girls.
My mom lovingly cared for it, putting it in cute ponytails and braid
loops and on special occasions, she would put it up in curlers overnight so we
would wake up with cascades of blonde curls.
Much later, in my early thirties, I experimented with dying my hair dark
to look more like a “real” belly dancer, whatever that means. But I went back
to blonde. I’m mostly Swedish, and
somehow blonde just suits me. Keeping it
long makes me feel extra pretty when I fix it up for dates with my husband, I
love the way it moves when I dance, and I especially love the way my daughter
curls her fat baby fingers into my hair and nuzzles into my neck when she needs
comforting.. I’m dreading losing my hair and being left with a bare, lumpy
skull. My hair will grow back, but my
hair is fine and grows slowly. At my typical rate of growth of ¼ inch a month,
it will take 6 years until it will be back to the length it is now.
Then, there’s my rack.
It’s true that reconstruction is an option, but it will be complicated
by radiation treatment and the fact that I’m losing Titsy, not Big
Mountain. Because of radiation, it will
not be an option to have an artificial implant such as saline or silicone. Failure rates are really high. So, the only option is to reconstruct my left
breast with my own flesh. This also sounds
deceptively fabulous: breast augmentation AND a tummy tuck! Amazing! However, the surgery is typically 10-12 hours
and could be complicated by the fact that I had a C-section with my first child. I’ll most certainly have to take Big Mountain
down a few notches, and it doesn’t sound like she can be a “donor” to
rebuilding Titsy. In short,
reconstruction is a long and not very fun road, and that’s after 20 weeks of
chemo, a modified radical mastectomy, six weeks of radiation, and a minimum of
6 months of recovery before any reconstruction can start.
I would say that I will forgive those who make the comments
about hair growing back and reconstruction, but there is nothing to
forgive. I know it comes from a good
place in their hearts and that they mean no harm. However, I hope they will
forgive me if I have my own little pity party to mourn the loss of my hair and
my old pal Titsy. Then, when the pity
party is over, I’ll move on and simply be grateful to be alive.
In my younger, pre-mom years, circa 2002 or 2003.
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