Dear Boobs –
This morning’s conversation as we stood in the bathroom mirror was probably the first time we’ve shared more than a passing glance since it became clear we are no longer on the same page.
It was tense.
I stared at you and tried to imagine my body when you are gone. I’ll be honest. I’m not sure what life is going to be like once I’m pieced back together, and I have to move on without you.
You looked so innocent reflected at me this morning, save the faded purple of the biopsy site, and for a minute, I thought about letting you stay.
Maybe radiation and two mammograms a year, followed by an MRI, would work, set our life back on course. Perhaps I could take the pills and keep an eye on you.
After all, we have been together for 48 years. Training bras that came in a box, the few hot seconds we breastfed my three children, endless sports bra shovings, and countless trips to the dressing room with tops I was sure you would fit into, only to have you create that annoying gap between the second and third button.
When you first showed up in my T-shirts all those years ago, I was grateful that you didn’t draw too much attention. And then, you were right there for me, full and soft when I discovered lace and silk.
I’ve spent my life criticizing my body for one reason or another, but I have always liked you. We go so well together. So, maybe that’s why this betrayal is tricky.
I would totally expect this shit from Thighs. Those bitches and I have never gotten along. Or even show-up-disappear-again Abs. I’ve never trusted them.
But you? You were always different. Familiar and fun.
This morning, even now that we’re older and not quite as… alert, I found that I still love you.
And despite the awful secrets you’ve been hiding, standing there in the mirror, just the three of us, I so wished you didn’t have to go. I wished we could go back to happier times.
But wishing never got a woman anywhere.
Tough choices are part of navigating a life. I see now that you and I have different goals.
I plan to be around for my children. I want to get all pruney with my Baber. I want to dance around my kitchen to Big Poppa until I throw out a hip. Bike, walk, write, and laugh my ass off.
With or without you, I want a shot at 48 more years.
I honestly thought we would be together forever, but you’re not safe or familiar anymore. I don’t trust you, and I will not live my life looking over my shoulder in fear of what I will discover next.
We’ll be together for a few more weeks while I gather my things and head to the hospital, but come early December, we will go our separate ways.
But before things get messy, here’s to us. The young girl we once were and the many shades of woman we grew into being.
Know that I am sad to see you go. I’m not sure how long I will miss you or flinch at the scars you’ll leave behind.
But also know that no matter what, I will get on with living my best life. I know no other way.
That’s all from the laundry room. Wake up early.