A Fond Farewell
Thank you all for your incredibly supportive words. In writing what I did earlier this week, and in reading your replies (including a wonderful letter from a newer friend who has had two mastectomies, two years apart, about what she does miss about her breasts and how she doesn't regret her mastectomies without reconstruction) I have begun to feel more at peace and more ready for the surgery.
Don and I declared today "breast day," and told each other stories about our experiences with breasts before loving mine some more and taking some pictures to remember them by.
Then I sat down to write and this prose poem came to me:
A Fond Farewell (from my breasts to me, after neoadjuvant chemotherapy for triple-negative bilateral cancer, and before my double mastectomy)
When we were small – before you were even born – we were just like seeds. All potential. Throughout your childhood, we lay dormant, waiting for the right season. Then, one morning we surprised you, like buds popping out. All pointy in your striped turtleneck, I know we embarrassed you, but it was so thrilling to wake up and begin to grow! You flattened us a bit in your training bra, but we persisted, developed, filled out more and more. So much so that a new girlfriend encouraged you to show us off. “Wow, look at your figure!” she said. And, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it!” A new swimsuit, and three low-cut shirts, one of them with sparkles, were the result of this tutelage.
We did have some fun early on – that boy caressing one of us on that hay ride…that other boy (he was a bad one!) brushing us quickly that day when there was no-one else in the classroom. A quick tingle of excitement, causing us to wake up even more! We know you wished we could have stopped growing a little sooner, before we got quite so large and pendulous. We know that we’ve gotten in your way at times, and that we’ve made you the object of undesirable attention at others. Sorry, we couldn’t help it. We were just too eager to be who we were.
So many of those guys were so fascinated by us. And some women, too. We weren’t that interested, truth be told. Sure, it felt nice at times to be embraced, sandwiched between your heart and that of your beloved. But babies, now – those were our calling. When you finally started to think about having one, instead of working desperately to avoid them, we were totally on board – so much so that when you would pass by other women’s infants, we would send those yearning shivers down your arms, impelling you to reach out and hold them. (Yep, that was us! Or maybe we just channeled it from somewhere deeper inside you?)
Alas, you did not conceive, and like ripened fruit unpicked, we began to wither on the vine. Then, perhaps we overgrew in our zeal, maddened a bit by our deepest purpose going unfulfilled. Or, perhaps it was our regular bathing in the artificial growth hormones and other chemicals you unwittingly consumed. Though we know you tried to avoid them, those potent agents designed to enhance the fruitfulness of our domesticated animal and plant sisters were a siren song to our cells. Oh, the smashing, the stabbing, the testing to find the rogue parts of us – ow, ow, and ow, that hurt!! Now, you have chastened us with harsh medicines –adriamycin, cytoxin, taxol, and carboplatin. Our overzealousness is curbed.
We’re glad that you’ve had this time to see that even with our sagging and our new scars, we are beautiful. We forgive you – for never having the opportunity, in this lifetime, to suckle young kin. We forgive you – for the tight and uncomfortable bindings you sometimes put us in. We forgive you – for not loving us unconditionally. We forgive you – for sacrificing us now for the greater good of your life and your love for the world. We go willingly, like untasted fruit falling to the ground, preceding the rest of you back to our Mother the Earth. May the milk which never flowed through our ducts flow as lovingkindness from your arms, your hands, your voice, your mind, and your heart for the rest of your days. And may those days be many.
Comments (14)
Please hear this as a sort of call-and-response from me..........and from so many others, I am sure, both seen and unseen, reflecting your own words as a blessing back to you from the sky and the full moon and the rain and the late-summer abundance of flowers: "May the milk which never flowed through your ducts flow as lovingkindness from your arms, your hands, your voice, your mind, and your heart for the rest of your days. And may those days be many." Yes, may those days be many.........filled with life and love unending.
I am calling and responding back with Kate -- I love what she wrote and add my voice. Yes yes yes to all this. So beautiful, this blessing from your breasts to you, the affirmation of love and life and the willingness to surrender to the unknown. . . thank you for all the consciousness and intentionality you are bringing to each step of this process, and for the trust and openness in sharing with us. What a gift.
Incredible. Thank you for sharing those beautifully written deeply personal insights.
Becca, you are in my heart and mind. Thank you for sharing this loving tribute to and from your wonderous female body. You remind me to love mine up now, just as she is, for all she is, all she has been, and all she never was and never will be. Love to you.
Thanks so much for sharing these words with us, Becca. I'm sorry I haven't been in touch up to now. I hope to be in the not-too-distant future. I've read many of your postings. Please, take care, in this next step of the way.
Just wow. And I forgive your breast for inspiring that bit of jealousy within my little pubescent body! May you live in health and peace.
Becca, My heart aches for your goodbye and your breasts' goodbye to you. I'm inspired by the genuine dialogue of all your breasts are, and were, with your life experience. And how wonderful that you and Don could say goodbye and you will have photos. I did not want to tell you before you made your decision, but in the course of a previous job, I knew quite a few women who chose double mastectomies with no reconstruction. After difficult goodbyes, every single one of them was relieved by and at peace with their choice. From what I read here, you and Don, and your breasts have come to that kind of peace. I'm so glad for your consciously lived decision and oh yes, may your days be many. Sending love, Sonia
Becca your words are so clear and truthful, helping grapple with tough terrain. Through all of this you have made your difficult journey real and healing for not just yourself but others. Cutting through and making things a bit more beautiful....just like a clear stream. Thank you deeply for the reflections. And please keep writing! Hope the surgery and recovery go well.
Hi Becca, As I walked through the aisles of Whole Foods last night, I thought, "What would Becca like to eat?" So I started buying healthy greens and thought of making a big salad; something tasty and delicious to give you energy and joy. I would like to come by some time soon and drop something off for you. I didn't sign up or look at the sign up page, but you can just give me a quick reply here or by email and I'll come by. I am in awe of you! How beautiful and powerful your reflections are! I appreciate reading them and think you are so wise and growing deeper still in your wisdom. We are all learning from you and blessing you for what you are giving to us and to yourself. I too, know someone who had both breasts removed and has felt so positive about her choice and no regrets. She is alive and well and happy and has been for many, many years. Best of luck this week and know that so many of us think of you (and Don) whether we write often or on occasion. You are always put into the circle at every sangha meeting I have attended. We all keep you in our hearts and thoughts and I believe there is a power in that. Much love to you, Gerri
What a beautiful story and farewell. Thinking of you often.
Dear Becca - Thank you for sharing this beautiful heart-felt vulnerable transparent honoring goodbye - and allowing others to be with you in reading your goodbye. Sending you so much love as you approach your surgery. Love, Catherine
A very deep bow of love to you dear Becca.
Becca, though in a way I barely know you I feel overwhelmed with love and admiration for you and your beautiful honest words, thoughts, and reflections. I too will be holding you In my thoughts and prayers.
Oddly enough, on our last night of vacation, in our hotel room flipping through channels (no cable at home) we happened upon an HBO segment with the comedian Tig Notaro. Halfway through her set she revealed she had bilateral breast cancer and chose a double mastectomy without reconstruction. She had some interesting reflections that both parallel and differ from your deeply meaningful writing. Then she removed her jacket and shirt and did the rest of her set naked from the waist up, with a level of comfort that made us comfortable with her naked from the waist up. It was definitely perspective-adjusting. So I just wanted to mention thatI as you take the next step on your journey.