I sat in the waiting room, a nervous wreck. I had the cold sweats, my hands were shaking like a drug addict going through withdrawal, and I never felt more alone in my entire life.
When I took off the bra, I began feeling more immersed in the world and less burdened by the contraption on my chest.
The only advice is to not ignore that this is a last of something in her life and in yours. But from lasts, come new firsts.
What no one tells you when you lose your mom at eight years old is that every milestone from that point on will be ruined by the sharp pang of loss you will inevitably feel when you realize she has missed another chapter in your life.
Having the perfect set of tits wouldn’t make them anymore beautiful when they were the source of mutations. I don’t even like them that much, I think. A lifetime of dealing with a part of my body that I’m not even crash hot about.
I had occasion to watch Hilary make her move on Cliff during an otherwise apparently pointless conversation recounting an argument she’d had last week with Reggie Jackson in a Fort Lauderdale restaurant.
I discovered my first lump at the age of 30.
I got rid of my boobs two months ago. I lost my mother to breast cancer when I was 13. At 26, I found out I carried the “faulty” BRCA1 gene, putting my chance of getting breast cancer at 87%.
Monokini 2.0 is an art project dedicated to expanding “what is accepted and considered beautiful by designing a swimwear collection for women who have gone through breast cancer.”
You never think it will happen to you. Never. Not in a million years.