Readers, we’re talking boobs here, so if you can’t handle le boobée sujet (sorry, Ms. Wilson, French was not my strong suit), then don’t you dare speak, just forever hold your peace and get off this blog.
This coming Monday you head back to Pittsburgh. It’s not for a check up, a decision, or chemo. This time it’s the beginning of the end, what all of this has been leading up to; the first of a double mastectomy. Monday morning you’ll wake up with both of your God given, got-’em-from-our-momma breasts and that evening you’ll rest soundly, a little closer to peace.
When I told you I was starting my “boob post,” you asked if it would be about fake breasts. Well, no. I don’t have a problem with fake breasts. I’d quite fancy a pair myself, but Fil assures me it is unnecessary. Just as I have assured him that dating James Franco is not a necessity. Ah, the gives and takes of love. You then asked if it would be about the “hype” of them. Well, no, again. I, as anyone, applaud a great pair of boobs. I applaud a small pair of boobs. I applaud my own boobs. All boobs. Let’s have a round of applause for boobs!
This post isn’t a criticism, a personal essay, or an opportunity to express how unfortunate it is that nature should give me, a woman, breasts that heterosexual men, by nature, should admire. None of that. Nada. You know me. I don’t have time for it. This post is to make you smile. That’s all it’s ever been meant to do. Hell, I think that’s all I ever wanted to do. To make my big sister smile or laugh has been a life ambition since the day I knew I could. And you know something? I’ll never achieve it because I could never make you laugh long or hard enough. It’s one of the best feelings in the world. And the fact that we have the same laugh…yeah. That makes it 10 times better.
These operations have been looming over us for some time now. You’ve been battling for months and your troops are wearing thin, but hold out. Hold out just a little longer. Long enough for a healthy recovery, long enough to come back bigger, better, and stronger (not your boobs, you.)
I can tell you’re tired by the way you refer to it nowadays. Rarely do you mention it, if ever. You’re worn out and it’s okay. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it. It’s okay if you’re sick of hearing, “a friend of mine went through the same thing…” Yeah? Well, we are one big happy club, huh? It doesn’t have to be a part of your every day. It doesn’t have to be a part of you and after Monday, it won’t be.
I’ve never been that worried about you, you know that? You’ve always held your own. I was the delicate one. I was the one mom worried about when it came to love, life, and the real world. Not you. You were in the real world before the real world knew you were real. Always matter-of-fact with life. Just like today when I asked, “Are you getting nervous?” “No. I don’t think about it. Gotta do it to keep it from coming back.” “Oh. Yeah. That makes sense. Uhm, so…how’s the weather?” I mean, you really leave no room for discussion sometimes. But, I love that about you. I’ve always loved how you just roll on. Life is what it is. You never get too worked up about it, but you sure as hell know how to cherish it.
No, I’m not worried about you. Not at all. The only thing I ask is that a few days from now, when you’re alone and see yourself for the first time, for the first time without your left breast, tell the woman looking back at you how incredibly gorgeous she is and always will be. Tell her how strong she was through all of this. Tell her how happy she makes her husband and how proud she makes her little girl. Tell my big sister that she’s my hero and my best friend.
During my mystic boob research, yes, mystic boob research, you read right, I found that there were two sisters who ruled the Amazons together: Lampedo and Marpesia. Together these sisters formed an army of women after their men were killed off by Scythians. The widows of both tribes merged together and worked for peace, but raised their daughters to be warriors, usually binding the right breast for archery. This is where Amazon, “A” meaning “without” and “mazos” meaning breast, comes from. I love Wikipedia.
After reading that, I realized you are my Lampedo and I am your Marpesia. Together they raised a tribe of women who met the demands of life with ferocity and took no prisoners-well they would mate with men once a year, but you get the idea.
You, sister, are now among the Amazons. You’re a queen. A goddess. Your strength matches any army’s and I am so honored to be always by your side in battle.