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.
acceptance cancer choices coping crazy life health learning pain thoughts women cancer choices coping hope learning life pain thoughts winging it women
Sending love and prayers, Tracy. Wish I could do more, or that there were better words.
Hi, Tracey. All my best wishes and support from Barcelona. Boobs are overrated 😉. You will look fantastic after the surgery because beauty comes from the inside, and you have plenty of it. Everything it’s going to be just fine. 😘😘😘😘😘
Sending hugs. Cancer is a bitch; she took my left kidney nearly 10 years ago. Wishing you a speedy recovery.
This was beautiful. I know how strong you are, and I know that this is the best decision for your body. But your perfectly address so many feelings here. Thank you for being you and sharing your words and wisdom with the world.
Sending you a big Hug to see you through this. You already know this, but they’ve served their purpose beautifully. Giving them up will not diminish the beautiful human you are. Travel on and up with less, you don’t need the extra baggage. Now you can go deeper. I will keep you in my prayers. I Wish You Miracles. Selma, https://selmawrites.com
You are the most eloquent badass I have the pleasure of knowing. Your journey is tough, but clearly you are tougher. Leave “em behind because there’s so much more in front of you!
Thank you for your honesty, Tracy, and the beauty with which you express it. Sending armloads of powerfully healing hugs…and love. B
What a tough blog to write, Tracey. Yet you wrote it in your singular style…humor, grace, and pathos mixed. Wishing you all the best as you battle this. ~nan
Of course you’ll have many, many more years to do all the things on your “bucket” list! Sending a continuous supply of positive vibes, hugs and love, Tracy. Thinking of you. . . . .
Tracy, my dear, sweet, kickass friend, I love you so much. You are a beautiful person, inside and out, and the beauty you share with the world is bigger and better than both those boobs combined (however spectacular they may be). Thank you for sharing your battle with us and your struggle to face this new, soon-to-be-boobless world that’s sure to take some getting used to, but you will thrive. You absolutely will live your best life, and I’ll be cheering you on the entire way. Sending love and loads of hugs to you and your jugs. xoxo
Thank you, Julie. Hugs to the Jugs! Again, I think that’s a T-shirt. Lol. 🥰
Oh, Tracy, what a lovely and heartbreaking post. I’m thinking about you (and your boobs) and will be sending all the positive vibes in the world your way!
Thank you, Maggie. 🥰
I clicked the “Like” button, but…
No words. Only positive thoughts & the warmest wishes, Sister.
Sending Love, Support And Prayers. Lots of HUGS.