On Second Thoughts, Alignment, Beauty, and Sacrifice
My emotions have been all over the map the past week or two. Our trip to visit Don’s dad was intense – it was the first time we’d been to see him since before my diagnosis, and he’s declined a lot. So much so that we called hospice in while we were there, and extended our stay by a couple of days. It was hard to leave him, but good to get home. As the surgery nears (it’s a week from tomorrow!), I am quite busy with logistical, medical and psychological preparations, working out to regain my strength, and work and art projects I’d like to get done before it happens. I also have been doing a lot of grieving about losing my breasts.
I have been practicing with the “alignment mantra” that Robert Gass and I came up with during our coaching session in May, “I am removing my breasts for the sake of my life, and I surrender to the unknowable.” Part of the point of an alignment phrase is to help you make a decision and take action on it powerfully, i.e. with all the parts of yourself aligned around the direction. And, part of the point is that you can then repeat it when you start to lose clarity or motivation to carry through with the decision. While my phrase is still quite powerful, it often happens with mantras or declarations used repeatedly over time that they may need to shift. A few days ago while meditating and noticing my grief, I came up with a modification of it that immediately brought tears – a sure sign, to me, of its power: “I am sacrificing my breasts for the sake of my life, and I surrender to the unknowable.” “Sacrificing” captured the emotion of grief, of loss, which was most of what the tears were about. Naming an emotion or validating it in this way can help it be expressed more fully (and, if expressed more fully in a safe way, I believe it can be released).
The notion of sacrifice also has other connotations that fit to some extent. “Sacrifice” has a religious or spiritual quality – as in, sacred – which fits with my choice to make this experience have meaning and use its lessons for personal growth, rather than treating it like just a scary pain in the ass. Using “sacrificing” instead of “removing” also feels to me like it includes more of the complexity of what will happen to my breasts after they are “removed” – they will be sliced up (or something) and examined under the microscope to determine whether I am indeed cancer free (NED is the latest terminology – “no evidence of disease”); presumably some of the tissue will be stored for future scientific research and medical record-keeping (biopsy tissue is stored, they told me, when I asked whether future advances in genetic research could indicate a cause and more targeted treatment). And as my coach Suzanne helped me envision, some of the breast tissue (and all of it, eventually, one way or another) will go back to the earth and sky – as will the rest of me some day.
The word sacrifice also made me think of a “propitiatory” sacrifice, though I had to look it up to get the word right. Propitiate: to make (someone) pleased or less angry by giving or saying something desired. Propitiatory: intended to propitiate, reconcile, expiate or appease; conciliatory. Huh, I was just talking in my last post about my pattern of being an “appeaser” in conflict situations. Well, if I appease the god of cancer by giving it my breasts, perhaps it will be satisfied and let me live my life unburdened by repeated testing, biopsies, and possible recurrences.
People have been asking me (and Don) why. Why, if the cancer is mostly gone or maybe all gone from the chemo, am I still going through with a double mastectomy? It’s a little complicated, both for technical reasons having to do with why they did chemo first, and also because any person’s motivation has many layers. Personifying or deifying cancer aside, the simplest answer has to do with what I just said: I would rather live without breasts, than have to have painful testing every 6 months and a higher risk of going through this all again.
These questions “why” are completely understandable, and I have been using the alignment mantra because I have had second thoughts myself. Recently two women who listened to my reasons for choosing a double mastectomy without reconstruction each independently said something like, “well, that makes sense, and besides, you’re married, so you’re fine.” Um, well, yeah, I guess. Don is amazing and loyal and will love me even without my breasts – but it will be a loss for him too, and may have (currently “unknowable”!) effects on our love life. And yeah, I don’t have to look conventionally beautiful because I’m not trying to “catch” a man; but Don is 14 ½ years older than me, and there is a real possibility I could find myself (like the heroines of my new favorite Netflix TV show, Frankie and Grace), 70 years old and single. Wouldn’t I regret my decision then?!? After a while, I managed to remember that if I keep breast tissue, I am also more likely to find myself with a recurrence as a 70 (or 80)-year-old single woman – without a partner to help care for me, this would be much worse to go through again! And, these possible future scenarios are part of the “unknowable” I am practicing surrendering to.
The second thoughts also come when the grief strikes at odd moments – when I see another woman’s cleavage in the locker room, or even my own still-well-endowed profile in a tight shirt. Why would I give up these things of beauty? It is amazing to me that I even feel that way at all—as I said in an early post, I’ve had a lot of negative feelings about my breasts and about the social constraints on what is considered beautiful, and on women to be beautiful. But, as an artist and social activist, I am often motivated by the beauty of the natural world and the desire to celebrate it, sustain it, and co-create with it. So, I have reclaimed my own sense of beauty to some extent. And, these months of "neo-adjuvant chemotherapy" -- chemo first -- have allowed me time to appreciate what I am about to lose.
I realized freshly this evening that my grief is about both kinds of beauty – the real, natural beauty of my breasts, and the socially imposed need to feel I am beautiful to others (especially men). What drove it home was a “surgery care kit” sent to me by my brother and sister-in-law Marc and Sarah. Sarah’s mother Mindy, who was a very wonderful person, died much too young of ovarian cancer, right before my diagnosis. As a result, Sarah and Marc know a lot about the little things that help in a cancer journey – the “chemo kit” they sent me a few months ago included a hat, chewing gum, hand cream, lip balm, and chocolate. The "surgery kit" I opened today included “an intention,” (a candle with an healing intention written on it), “something to snack on” (a gluten-free chocolate brownie mix – how did they know I’m having a sweet tooth attack?! good thing I didn’t open it when I first got home or I’d be eating the whole batch right now!), “something to help take care of your body” (more of the special “Eos” lip balm they’d introduced me to before and that I’d raved about), and “a thing of natural beauty.” I opened this one last, and it is a gorgeous pair of earrings made from cross-sections of natural pine cones. I burst into tears at this – realizing as I did so that it was because the gift affirmed that I get to continue being beautiful, in ways I (and others) appreciate, even without breasts.
Comments (17)
How beautiful and sad. May living breastless bring you unimagined freedom.
Another friend had a double mastectomy Tuesday. She has not blogged about it. We are only in touch by FB since try left Madison several years ago. In fact knowledge of her surgery came from her husband Monday night on FB. "Please pray for Erika tomorrow as she has a double mastectomy." Many of us did. And Wednesday we were treated with a lovely picture of a gorgeous smiling Erika. I have a feeling she may have chosen sacrifice for her family and her life and all that is ago head too. And she looked overjoyed with her choice. May it be so, Becca.
You are and always will be a beautiful person, both in the important and the less important ways. your strength in sharing this journey and these emotions is certainly beautiful. And your smile always gives joy.
I am profoundly moved yet again by reading your posts, dear Becca. Yes, "sacrificing" -- this word is so much more powerful than "removing"! This choice is made sacred by your intention, your consciousness, your commitment to Life. And by your love. Love of beauty, of breasts, of partner, of self, of life; love that is Source and Sustainer. I sense so much love in you, through you, around you, radiating from you and returning back to you. I do not personally believe there is a cancer god that you need to appease. At the same time I can understand that line of thinking and believing, and I hold with tenderness the parts of you, me that believe we need to appease, perhaps to earn something. Such tenderness toward those vulnerable parts. I love that you are able to notice the assumptions behind "yes, well you're married) -- the ways they may fit, the ways they may not, and all the unknowables that make the value of such assumptions very questionable indeed. As we've discussed before, my also being with someone 14 1/2 years older than me gives me a lot of empathy with your wondering about the future. And even without statistics, this whole journey is a reminder that we simply cannot know or control what happens next. Recognizing the part about not fully appreciating something until it is gone or almost gone. Celebrating how you are appreciating your breasts now, allowing yourself to grieve. The bittersweetness of discovering now how much they mean to you! Perhaps discovering a new love for the form you've had for a long time? This makes the sacrifice much more sharp, and I really want to honor what it is taking for you to continue with your choice as you more fully feel into the loss. I'm imagining your breasts receiving your love and somehow being willing to sacrifice with you, for the sake of life, and also surrendering to the unknown. My sense is that the breast tissue will continue to serve life in ways that cannot be known right now -- as you say, through scientific discoveries, and/or through returning to earth. I see you releasing your breasts with love, and they you, for the sake of a greater love and a greater (different, currently unknowable) life. The last part of what you wrote brings tears. Yes, you get to continue being beautiful in ways that you and others can, do, and will keep appreciating! Yes, yes, yes! I so feel into that longing to know one's self as beautiful. The vulnerability of it. I can feel into the parts of me that never saw myself as beautiful, the parts that have dared to see myself as beautiful, all the thoughts about what "beauty" really is, and underneath that something almost impossible to articulate, wordless. Again, something about love, isn't it? I think about how mothers see their babies as beautiful and lovers see their beloveds as beautiful -- every detail to be cherished. Love that is physical, embodied, that says I love you, I love your form, I delight in all of it! On a mental, political level we can rebel against ideas about what women's bodies are supposed to be to measure up, and we can remind ourselves that we are more than our bodies, -- and even so, we are embodied and we want those bodies to be seen as beautiful and to be worthy of being cherished. This might be too many words and too mental but I hope somehow you find companionship in it. feeling so much love, respect, and appreciation for you and for all that you are bringing through -- the feelings, insight, wisdom. Thank you Becca. Thank you Becca's breasts for being part of the stimulus for even more love, awareness, and contribution to shine forth from this beautiful woman!
Hi, There is nothing I can say that changes anything. You already know that you have my support and love. So I thought a little story might be in order. I remember when I got into the warm water pool for the first time at UW and there were older ladies sharing the water and working out. They had had all manner of ailments and surgeries including breast removal. I was self-conscious, interesting for someone that is never self-conscious. Anyway, one lady walked over and said something like, “…that is quite a zipper you have there.” She was referring to the cut line where they opened my chest to do the heart surgery. I laughed and we discussed our respective surgeries. Then, I got to my back and said something like, “if you want to see a zipper look at this,” and I turned around and she actually laughed a little and said, “…that is quite the zipper. Front and back….etc.” Since that time I wear these scars proudly because without them I could not write to wish you my best. I guess the moral of the story is exactly what you stated and I know that when all is said the best part of you will survive and be well. And that includes your wit, wisdom, caring, love, persistence, fortitude, strength for you and others and all of those qualities that I have observed and read about, about you dear lady. So, go get ‘em and come out on the other side with a smile since you will have a great future ahead. Anyway, I need a hug or two from someone strong and beautiful and I choose you….. See ya on the other side, Love David
Blessings Becca. You are a courageous, brave and beautiful woman! Grace, ease and flow in all things, in all ways, on all levels. Much Love, Gail Michelle
Beautiful post on beauty -- inside and out -- which you have in abundance.
So moving to read your thoughts, Becca, and those of your friends. Like David W., I look forward to a hug from you "on the other side," and to hug you back. Your new shape will be as beautiful as the old to absolutely everyone who cares about you. The magnetism of your spirit is as strong as ever, even stronger. You join a huge group of women who have gone through this journey, and in my mind, that is a special sorority that I can almost envy in a few thoughtful ways. Thank you for sharing with us so many steps along the way. Keep going. L'Chayim!
Your honesty and willingness to explore the unknowable is beyond admirable. In my thoughts in the week to come.
I talked with my friend about your ritual. She said she didn't have one, then said, "But maybe I did. I got on my cycle and drove those girls to __________(a 2000+ ride), one last time)!" She grins from ear to ear.
I'll be thinking of you. It's certainly not an easy short-term choice. I had my own little (in comparison) surgery a few weeks ago on a hernia (I can't show off my "zipper" like David can :-) ). I was surprised by both how little it hurt at first, then how much it hurt a few weeks later, but always how much I was able to do compared to what I expected. I can't even begin to do the multiplier for your choice but, as you surrender to the unknowns, I wish for you more potentially good unknowns than potentially bad ones.
When one heart touch other hearts it is beyond loveliness... you are a very rare gift and I continue to hold you and Don in practice. palms together, Laura
Your expression of what you are feeling is once again very moving. I hope you are saving all these entries in a way that you have easy access to them. They would make a great book and be very helpful to others going through this. Holding you in my heart.
You have left me in tears, and awe, again Dear Sister. Only a beautiful and loving soul could write such words and share so much of their path. May yours be filled with love and beauty in its many forms -- and may you have many beautiful earrings to wear. Bowing to your love and light, Lorri
There's a wonderful (in my opinion) documentary on Netflix right now called Tig. It's about a comedian and her journey with breast cancer (she was cancer-free at the time of filming), and how she responded - with fear, grace, humor, and a whole host of other emotions. It may be something you're interested in watching. Love and hugs to you both!
Your words about sacrifice, and a mantra transformed, feel so true and deep, dear Becca. Your natural beauty shines brightly. Blessings and love to you and Don as the journey continues.
I love you Becca. I am grieving the removal of your breasts, and I am celebrating the life you will enjoy on the other side of this cancer. Love, Bev