Don't Mess with My Breasts

Sometimes it takes getting cancer, to discover that your breasts don't belong to you. That they never did. That they're politically and sexually-charged lightening rods, dominated by public discourse. That every single human-being, on earth, has an opinion on their purpose, their appearance and their relevance. But I'm done.

Today, I'm reclaiming my breasts.

I'm a feminist, but my breasts do not belong to my sisters in the resistance.
I've nursed my baby, but my breasts do not belong to the pro-breastfeeding movement.
I've been leered at, but my breasts do not belong to the misogynist male gaze.
I belong with my husband, but by breasts aren't his to own.

Yesterday, I decided that I want to have breast reconstruction, after my mastectomy. It's a long, brutal surgery, with an arduous and painful recovery. It's a hard choice, but, again, the right choice for me.

I'm not doing it for my sisters, my son, my partner, or the man on the street.

I'm doing it because I love my breasts. Because I like their shape and feeling and meaning. And at the end of it all, I'll get fabulous, forward-facing breasts, that no longer stare at my toes.

So, today, I've officially reclaimed my breasts. 

My Breasts, My Choice

On January 21, 2017, I joined an ocean of women across America, on the march of our lives. The atmosphere was electric, as we drummed, danced and chanted our truths. We went hoarse, shouting, "Our Bodies, Our Choice!" and I have to believe that the universe actually heard us roar. 

Today, my body called upon me to make a choice. And I made a radical, life-changing one. The right one for me.

At our long and intense meeting with my surgeon, this morning, we discussed all of my medical options. With my non-invasive cancer detected so early, I would be the perfect candidate for a lumpectomy, followed by radiation, and, possibly, long-term use of the anti-cancer drug, Tamoxifen. I'd continue to need aggressive-screening, and there would be the risk of either a recurrence, or a new cancer forming in one, or both, of my breasts. 

I closed my eyes and put my hand on my heart, and for the very first time, it spoke to me with an unambiguous, inarguable, clarity.

"What I want," I heard myself state, "is a bilateral mastectomy, without reconstruction. I want to be free from fear, and anxiety, and medication, and mammograms, and biopsies, and radiation. My amazing breasts have done what they were meant to do, and I'm truly ready to let them go."

My doctor listened. Ranabir listened. I listened. To me, speaking my truth. Without fear. And for very the first time since my abnormal mammogram, my pulse slowed down, and I experienced the deepest sense of peace.

I'm having my surgery on September 12th. It'll be the beginning, of the rest of my life.

But first, I'm taking my beautiful, hard-working, loyal breasts, on one, last, fabulous, beach-holiday to Mexico!