day 20: see you on the other side

For those of you who are part of the Lismore Lesbian Lightning Communication Network, this may come as a surprise, but breasts have never been my thing. For those who are not in the network, bear with me as this post is about breasts.

My breasts have never looked this good before. Two rounded mounds in T-shirts, singlets and camisoles – even without a bra they are suddenly the most stunning discovery. I feel like I’m watching David Attenborough doing a special segment and breasts are the name of the game.

“Today, breasts are everywhere,” says David in his familiar throaty singsong, “on the beach, in shop windows, down the catwalk and the evening news. Breasts, it seems, are here to stay. But what do we really know about the psychology of breasts and how they interact with human nature?”

For many years I hated the look of them. They were somehow inferior to the perky, well-nippled set I had internalised from some evil patriarchal brainwashing chemical dropped into the water when I was born in the 70s. Now all breasts seem perfect to me. Small ones, large ones, fat ones and droopy ones. Brown ones, pink ones, white and stretch-marked ones. Round and pointy ones. Flat and firm ones.

I start checking myself out in the bathroom mirror at R-‘s place. This lasts a few days but the rather large lump protruding on the left breast clamours for attention and breaks through my soft focus lens.

R- takes me to women’s night at one of those spa places where you run around with no tops on and hop in and out of heated pools with jets pounding your back. I am a little concerned on the way there, but this has been on the wish list of girlfriend adventures for years. Maybe it’s time to start ticking off some items on the list.

The spa is a huge mistake. My anxiety grows and grows until I can’t speak. There’s so much shouting going on in my head, but I push on, firm in my commitment to follow this through despite the raging anxiety waves and HUGE neon sign flashing in front of my eyes saying ‘this is a bad idea’.

Inside my head there’s a stern lecture going on.

“This is your last chance to do this with two breasts. Come on, get it together. You’ve been brought here as a gift. This was a beautiful thing for R- to do for you. You should be enjoying it. At least for her sake. Just snap out of it. Just bury your thoughts and be in the moment. You’ll never be able to do this again. Just feel the bubbles on your skin, don’t think about anyone else…”

And on and on it goes. Funny how that voice can just keep on ranting and raging, without breathing or letting up for a moment. But it’s too late for self talk, my conscious control didn’t make it past the change room and grass matting.

I sit right on one of the strong spa jets, my sore shoulder pushed up against it in an attempt to break through the crazy mind with pain. But every time I open my eyes, there are beautiful breasts everywhere. A woman about my age has her head back against one corner of the spa, both elbows spread to the sides, the spa jets pelting her back and her chest stretched widely.

I finally lose it when some poor woman puts her feet on my hand under the water. My reaction is more appropriate to being felt up in a department store. I get out of the spa, loudly tell her how rude she is (I actually do this twice, in case she didn’t get the message over the sound of the spa jets), and run around the corner bawling and wailing.

R- comes over to find out what’s going on but it’s too late. She holds me while I cry and rage at the complementary herbal tea bar. The attendant walks past a couple of times, but this scene looks about as inviting a customer service experience as a child tantrum in a three hat restaurant, and she hurries by with fluffy towels.

Eventually we get dressed and scoop our stuff back into the car. Despite our shame and exhaustion, we manage to have an enormous fight, and white hot self righteous anger meets molten bloody hatred. R- spends the night on the couch. And I never stop loving her.

We make up the next day and spend hours working through what happened and how we can get through what’s ahead of us both. We open our hearts as we never have before, and the honesty and love flow through, while tears and self-realisations for both of us lead to a smoother way of relating, deeper trust and friendship.

So yes, there have been some ups and downs. I realise that the self pity and self hatred I have carried since puberty about my body are salivating succubi who sneak up inside my shadow and suck away at the spirit. Leaving me nothing but a shell of social narratives about bodies, relationships, sex, femininity, masculinity, love, work, family, adulthood, and duty.

***

Friends come to help pack up my house, because the moving van is arriving in a few weeks and who knows where things will be at. They bring love, hugs, food and work their guts out in the heat. Gifts arrive: flowers, books, food, facial products. I am amazed that people can be so generous.

Since being diagnosed with breast cancer , I’ve been making a list of ‘lasts’, like a kind of mastectomy bucket list. Swim in the ocean topless for the last time. Have sex for the last time. The last yoga class. Last hugs with special friends and family. I have spent weeks thinking about loss.

But as I make my way through the lasts, I experience a deep welling of peace inside my soul when I pay attention to moments. The kindness in people’s eyes. Messages of love over the digital highway. Heartfelt hugs and loving hands. Soft sweet kisses. Passionate music, deep bass drums and soul-filled blues. The feel of ocean waves tickling around my bare chest. These things are exquisite and I am alive. This feeling is gratitude.

I can share all this willingly because:

1. I have just had the best massage of my life, and
2. Tomorrow I’m having a mastectomy.

The lessons in all this are for me, not you. You will have your own succubi to wrangle with and pacify. My lessons are: pay attention. Be alive. Receive and give from the heart. Experience love with honesty, dive into the white froth of the ocean, laugh from the bottom of your belly, and feel gratitude.

To everyone who has been a part of this journey with me, thank you. To Rose, who told me to remember my wings, thank you. To my parents. driving up and down the Pacific Highway under duress, thank you. To the incredible, magical, deeply loving, honest, beautiful and soul-filled R-, thank you, thank you, and thank you.

See you on the other side.