My breasts don't make milk anymore...

Last week, I had a heartbreaking conversation with a pink ribbon sister who was dealing with a recurrence of her cancer. She is facing having a mastectomy very soon and wanted to discuss what reconstruction I chose to have. She was just looking for a little "insider" perspective. You know how that is... you see someone who's driving the car you want and you ask them how they like it. Its similar to that.

So, as we discussed the procedure that I chose to have... my sister looked over my blog and found a picture that disturbed her. It was a picture of a sister with one boob removed, holding a picture frame. Honestly, I love that picture. I wish I had the pictures that I took of myself pre- and post-mastectomy surgery. Sadly, I don't have them anymore. But the sight of a sister with one breast was just more than she could deal with in that moment. And as I read her angry blog rant about not wanting to give up her breast... I was immediately dragged back to that time in my life.

Those days/weeks/months that led up to my mastectomy were hard. I often tell people that I felt more blessed because I had months to finally wrap my brain around the notion that I had to lose my breast in order to save my life. The four months that I spent in chemotherapy gave me time to really understand what was going on in my body and to gain an appreciation for the strength of my medical team. By the time January 2009 came around, I was still unhappy... but I was ok. And when I woke up with one breast, I didn't cry another tear about the loss. I boohoo'd a lot before that. And I was actually quite sad that the timing of my mastectomy meant that I missed all of the excitement about the presidential inauguration of Barack Obama. But once that breast was gone, it was as though it just didn't matter at all.

Now... fast forward to last night. I've still got this conversation with my sister on my mind and I'm at a swanky birthday party for a friend. The invitation mentioned that there would be a roast at midnight of my friend by a local comedian. When this gentleman got on the microphone... few of us realized that he wasn't just another drunken patron... but that he was the entertainment. Well... he wasn't that funny. I mean, he probably is quite hysterical usually but his presentation was a bit off last night. He made a joke about breast milk ice cream. And he kept hammering this joke, over and over and over again. He remarked that he wanted all the women to line up so that we could make a contribution to the breast milk ice cream effort. (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-12569011)

Once the comic kept going on and on about the breast milk fund, I decided it was a good time for me to leave the party. I was tired and for some reason, that joke just irritated me a bit more than it should have. As I was saying goodbye to a friend, he joked with me about getting in line for the breast milk collection. I looked at him and I said... "my breasts don't make milk anymore"... He laughed and gave me a hug and told me that he loved me because I was so honest about my life.

And as I was leaving... I realized that that was where the pain comes from when you're faced with the prospect of losing your breast. The joke was crass but the reality was that the assumption that any woman who wanted to could offer a breast milk contribution was wrong. Every day, thousands of women are diagnosed with breast cancer. Every year, nearly a quarter of a million people are diagnosed with breast cancer. Every three minutes another person hears the words... "you have breast cancer" and they wonder how their world will change and whether they will make it and they wonder how their friends and family and jobs will survive this latest crisis.

Every day. Every few minutes. And yes, you can survive it. And yes, the survival rates for breast cancer survivors are getting better and better. But there still isn't a cure. There isn't a way to say definitively that if you avoid doing this or that you can avoid this disease. Breast cancer steals away more than it gives. But it does give you something. It gave me something. It made me stronger in ways that I never imagined. It made me stop taking my beauty and my femininity and my life for granted. But... it did take things from me. And no matter how often I think that I'm just beyond the pain of it all... it comes back and reminds me that I will forever be fighting this fight.

I will keep fighting for all of my sisters who cannot. For all of my sisters who do not want the whole world to look at their lives so deeply -- the way that I've opened my life up for scrutiny -- I will keep talking about it (the good and the bad). I will keep looking for ways to help. And through it all, I will work on keeping my sense of humor about myself and not be so upset to be reminded that my breasts don't make milk anymore.