Boobie Smushing (& Body Image)

I got my first mammogram last week.

I'd always heard that mammograms sucked. I imagined one of the worst pains imaginable; my boobs in a vice, essentially, and being cranked down until they felt like they were about to pop.

Fortunately, that is a lie. It doesn't hurt that bad. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't say it even hurt. It wasn't as bad as a Pap. A little uncomfortable, maybe, but nowhere near internal-at-26-weeks pain, or even relatively close to a magnesium drip for 72 hours.

I will say though, it was awkwarddddd. But not for the reasons you might think. Yes, the technician was an 80 year old woman with the coldest hands of any living being, and yes, it was embarassing when a little left over milk leaked out onto the platform... but the changing room was the most awkward.

After spending about twenty minutes in the office with a young lady that assured me several times that she had no clue why health insurance companies hire foreign call centers, I went into this tiny closet to change. I took off my shirt and bra, and wiped my deoderant off with a baby wipe (all the while thanking the powers that be that I shaved under my arms that day, quite the feat at this point in my life). I put on this little cape... and had to hold my boobs up underneath it because they are so large you could see them hanging. That was quite attractive, I assure you. Good heavens I love Lane Bryant and their super bras.

I turned to the mirror, and saw myself in a very different way than I usually do. Above the high rise of my jeans, a dark purple line snaked up the center of my belly. Jagged lines like tiger scretches covered my sides. My skin was loose; it hung off of my body in the least flattering way possible. The light, flourescent and damning, highlighted every bump and blemish.

My body felt... ugly.

And at that point I heard them call my name, and got back to reality. How worried would I be about my stretch marks and c-section scar if I was going into that room because I'd found something, and not because I'm paranoid? How much of my "fight" is just me taking the advice of a few doctors and over dramatizing it to the point that I feel it is life or death?

And how much of it is that I hate my body so much, I'll do anything to change it?

....And why the HELL do they put mirrors in those changing rooms?

Mother's Day

Mother's Day has always been a day of strange emotions for me. It was the last day that my mother was alive.

She was so vibrant and full of life that day, after months of being unable to leave her bed and eating only chocolate ice cream. Our family came to our home, and she cooked lunch. I was 13. She asked me after everyone left if I wanted to play cards with her.

"I think I can remember how to count now..." She was an accountant, and the cancer had hurt her so much that she couldn't count to 12 in order to play Skip Bo.

"I don't think so." I was busy chatting with my e-friends. Even at that age, I looked better in writing.

"Oh..." I could tell how disappointed she was.

"Mom, I am too old to play cards with you."

It was the last thing I ever said to her.

I had no clue that she would die the next day. I thought I had more time. I thought I had days, even weeks, left to spend with her..but the next morning, it was over. I never got to say goodbye. I never said "I love you". I never said "I wish we'd had more time".

I'd like to think that I've lived the rest of my life saying those things, over and over. I am Agnostic; I do not believe that there is some sentient spirit of my mother living in Heaven, watching over me and waiting for me to get to her. But sometimes I have these dreams, and they are so real... I think there must be something of her left.

Today was my first Mother's Day. But again, the strange mix of emotions: guilt, sadness, fear, anger...and this time around, happiness. Sheer joy to be spending this day with my son.

Some things never change. Thankfully, this did.

My Reason to Fight

This is Jack. He is my beautiful, wonderful, unexpected 8 week old reason for fighting.

When I originally found out about my high risk status, I was told that I shouldn't make any major preventive moves until I'd had children. Of course, I was 18 at the time, and knew that I wouldn't plan on having children until many years into the future. I didn't think about the fact that my plan might not match up with reality.

Bun and I found out about our surprise pregnancy (NuvaRing fail) on August 8th, 2009. I was already most of the way through the first trimester, and we had just moved from our hometown to San Marcos, Tx, in order to live with my best friend and allow me to attend graduate school. Needless to say, we were shocked. But even more than that, we were scared. There was so much about parenting and raising a child that we didn't, and still don't, know.

As we've gone through this process together, from the day I got my big fat positive test to the day I was wheeled into the OR to have both my gallbladder and my son removed at 37 weeks pregnant, we've become so much closer. We're a family. No, we're not married, but Jack cements our bond in a way that a piece of paper never could. We always want to do what is best for him.

Which is why, before I turn 24, I plan to have a preventive double mastectomy and oopherectomy. It's scary, and shocking, but it's what is best.

...I just wish I could stop thinking about "What if?".