On September 20th, 2006 I am scheduled to have a mastectomy on the right breast.
Now don’t anyone fret. It’s a day I knew was coming and you know what? I am not worried. I am not sad. I have no particular feelings on the subject other than to state, once again, that this does not bother me.
My lack of anxiety have disturbed others though. Like the subject of the hair (see earlier posts) the fact that I am losing a breast is deeply disturbing to some. That I am not upset about it, bothers them even more.
Like my hair, my breasts do not make me feel more female. I’m glad they were given to me, but they are not necessary. They are not an arm, a leg or an eye. I don’t need them to walk or to write with, although that would be a pretty funny sight. I can hear perfectly fine with or without them. They don’t help me to think, even though some would credit them with helping others not to think. I am not breast-feeding anyone – that I am aware of – an
d I don’t use them to do any housework. I don’t play the piano with them or paint: although if Jackson Pollock, had them, he might have gotten creative with them. I am no Jane Russell. (see right)
I liken my situation to that of a plane about to crash because it’s overloaded. If my body was that plane, the pilot – that would be me – would have to toss something out of the plane in order to survive. Well, I’d hate to toss out an arm, a leg, or any other appendage. What to do? The first thing out of that hatch, kids, would be a breast. You betcha. Maybe I’d toss both. They are simply flotation devices and, at my age and stage in life, not worth risking my life.
Everything in perspective, kids.
Live in the present, for the past is gone and the future has yet to arrive. You only have the present. The now. The right in front of you. If you spend all your time looking back, you’ll miss it . . .
. . . not to mention you might walk into a pole.
©2006 Annelise Pichardo
Now don’t anyone fret. It’s a day I knew was coming and you know what? I am not worried. I am not sad. I have no particular feelings on the subject other than to state, once again, that this does not bother me.
My lack of anxiety have disturbed others though. Like the subject of the hair (see earlier posts) the fact that I am losing a breast is deeply disturbing to some. That I am not upset about it, bothers them even more.
Like my hair, my breasts do not make me feel more female. I’m glad they were given to me, but they are not necessary. They are not an arm, a leg or an eye. I don’t need them to walk or to write with, although that would be a pretty funny sight. I can hear perfectly fine with or without them. They don’t help me to think, even though some would credit them with helping others not to think. I am not breast-feeding anyone – that I am aware of – an
d I don’t use them to do any housework. I don’t play the piano with them or paint: although if Jackson Pollock, had them, he might have gotten creative with them. I am no Jane Russell. (see right)I liken my situation to that of a plane about to crash because it’s overloaded. If my body was that plane, the pilot – that would be me – would have to toss something out of the plane in order to survive. Well, I’d hate to toss out an arm, a leg, or any other appendage. What to do? The first thing out of that hatch, kids, would be a breast. You betcha. Maybe I’d toss both. They are simply flotation devices and, at my age and stage in life, not worth risking my life.
Everything in perspective, kids.
Live in the present, for the past is gone and the future has yet to arrive. You only have the present. The now. The right in front of you. If you spend all your time looking back, you’ll miss it . . .
. . . not to mention you might walk into a pole.
©2006 Annelise Pichardo
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