It has been a hell of a two years since my mastectomy, weighted down with a heavy silicone prosthesis and one of those very modest bras meant to hide the slightest hint that you ever had surgery but that show when I wear the slightest v-neck, scoop neck or skinny strap tank top.
Because these sturdy, practical items are in need of replacing, I've started doing some online research to find alternatives to the very modest, cover-it-all-up options for post-mastectomy patients.
I'm extremely happy to share a blog entry I found, addressing my challenge:
Post Mastectomy Supplies by Hester Hill Schnipper.
She talks about various options, and links to a wonderful website called BreastFree.
BreastFree, in turn, links to many places to order lighter, different breast forms, cool tank tops, and all sorts of stuff.
I wanted to share this information in case anyone else out there is searching for new options.
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cancer. Show all posts
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Do something brave
It's three days until Jenny's 40th birthday, and I find it only fitting that I'm reflecting on what Hilair told me she does to remain inspired by Jenny: do something brave.
There are a million small moments of bravery, I think, like when Max told me he was ashamed that I mentioned my mastectomy to Liz, a parent at the school who works for a gynecologist and knew where I could find a new prosthesis in Oaxaca. I told Max he could be proud of me for fighting cancer, but my insides wanted to cry when he said that to me. Maybe the bravest thing is to reflect on what happened to me nearly two years ago, because I don't let myself think about it, read about it or even look too closely in the mirror.
Another type of bravery, I think, is meeting new people. We spent the weekend visiting the houses of new friends. On Saturday, it was Miguel, Rosa and Kobe for an afternoon talking about art, writing, children, gardens and books. Rosa shared a story about how, years ago, she was sitting in the zocalo when she was approached by a man. He said he was a painter and asked if she would model for him. She agreed. The painter turned out to the maestro Rodolfo Morales, and the painting was the famous huge mural in the municipal palace. In the painting, she is making some kind of offering.
On Sunday, we spent the afternoon at the home of Sadie, Anthony and Jasper. Sadie made a delish Puertoriqueno lasagne, with plantain stuffed inside. We sat on the porch and watched the children play and sing and, in Geni's case, sometimes pee, and it seemed to unfold like a beautiful (if flawed by occasional reminders of body functions) movie. We talked about compost and travel, painting and families. The world continues to offer up fascinating people to meet.
I'll be seeking out something symbolic to do or to connect with in the next few days. I'm struggling over this, foundering over what it should be, maybe something to do with art or some kind of happening. I will have to be somewhere and be receptive so I know that it's right for Jenny and me.
There are a million small moments of bravery, I think, like when Max told me he was ashamed that I mentioned my mastectomy to Liz, a parent at the school who works for a gynecologist and knew where I could find a new prosthesis in Oaxaca. I told Max he could be proud of me for fighting cancer, but my insides wanted to cry when he said that to me. Maybe the bravest thing is to reflect on what happened to me nearly two years ago, because I don't let myself think about it, read about it or even look too closely in the mirror.
Another type of bravery, I think, is meeting new people. We spent the weekend visiting the houses of new friends. On Saturday, it was Miguel, Rosa and Kobe for an afternoon talking about art, writing, children, gardens and books. Rosa shared a story about how, years ago, she was sitting in the zocalo when she was approached by a man. He said he was a painter and asked if she would model for him. She agreed. The painter turned out to the maestro Rodolfo Morales, and the painting was the famous huge mural in the municipal palace. In the painting, she is making some kind of offering.
On Sunday, we spent the afternoon at the home of Sadie, Anthony and Jasper. Sadie made a delish Puertoriqueno lasagne, with plantain stuffed inside. We sat on the porch and watched the children play and sing and, in Geni's case, sometimes pee, and it seemed to unfold like a beautiful (if flawed by occasional reminders of body functions) movie. We talked about compost and travel, painting and families. The world continues to offer up fascinating people to meet.
I'll be seeking out something symbolic to do or to connect with in the next few days. I'm struggling over this, foundering over what it should be, maybe something to do with art or some kind of happening. I will have to be somewhere and be receptive so I know that it's right for Jenny and me.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Agua Fresca
When our big move to Oaxaca got put off due to my diagnosis, I felt my strength flowing away from me, like water. It was if I had lost the power to decide what to do with my own life. We were put in the position of waiting and wishing but never knowing what was going to happen.
So I began visualizing agua fresca to transcend the confusion. I saw myself walking down the cobblestone streets of Oaxaca, going through the stucco arches of La Michoacana, approaching the counter, and looking into the silver tubs of "fruit water" to choose my flavor. That's what I used to do 10 years ago, and that's what I planned to do again, as soon as I could get back. It was a kind of promise to myself.
Yesterday, we were on our way to Benito Juarez market because I had somehow misplaced all my shoes and my flip flops were wearing dangerously thin. Shoes in Mexico are quite a conundrum for me because I wear Size 11, just freakishly big for Mexico. We were almost at the market entrance when Steve said, "Let's stop for agua fresca."
There it was--La Michoacana, home of the vision that had carried me through a lot of self-doubt. And they had agua de jamaica, one of my favorite flavors. It seemed as if they had just been waiting for me all along.
So I began visualizing agua fresca to transcend the confusion. I saw myself walking down the cobblestone streets of Oaxaca, going through the stucco arches of La Michoacana, approaching the counter, and looking into the silver tubs of "fruit water" to choose my flavor. That's what I used to do 10 years ago, and that's what I planned to do again, as soon as I could get back. It was a kind of promise to myself.
Yesterday, we were on our way to Benito Juarez market because I had somehow misplaced all my shoes and my flip flops were wearing dangerously thin. Shoes in Mexico are quite a conundrum for me because I wear Size 11, just freakishly big for Mexico. We were almost at the market entrance when Steve said, "Let's stop for agua fresca."
There it was--La Michoacana, home of the vision that had carried me through a lot of self-doubt. And they had agua de jamaica, one of my favorite flavors. It seemed as if they had just been waiting for me all along.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
From Oaxaca
I titled this entry "From Oaxaca" because that's where I'm writing it from, and because it's now where I'm from. I can't believe the moments leading up to our coming here:
1. A mastectomy with a little added surprise--removal of all my lymph nodes because the sentinel node had two borderline miscroscopic foci of cancer. Madonna really said it best: "Borderline, feels like I'm going to lose my mind" because I keep almost having invasive cancer and almost having complications, but no test really commits. But they "round up" on my diagnosis and go for more aggressive treatment.
2. Coming down off the Vicodan a couple weeks later, I picked a fight with Steve at a new vegan restaurant called Nutshell. What a shame to D.T. at a cute cafe with wall-sized paintings of Bigfoot painted by...Bigfoot. We're trying to be vegan-ish now because milk products are some vile stuff according to my favorite book on cancer, The China Study, given to me by Andrea, one of my wonderful Portland friends.
3. We got our asses kicked at the Mexican consulate in Portland and couldn't get our FM3 documents to live in Mexico. So, like many who have preceded us, we will attempt to get the papers in Oaxaca instead.
4. Our car did not sell until 10 hours before our flight out of the country.
But now we're here. In less than a week, we've enrolled Maxito at Colegio Teizcali for first grade, stood in the long line at Provedora on Independencia with his list of school supplies, met my future employer, made some new friends, met some old friends, visited the Zocalo, stalked the location of our apartment from 10 years ago, went to our old favorite veggie restaurant El Manantial, and, most importantly, found a favorite produce stall and staked out a lady selling fresh tortillas, both near Max's school.
I'm already feeling the pull of daily life redefined. We rush around, do typical over-planning, worry over trivialities, but it's all in Spanish and it's all in Mexico.
Our adventures to come: Steve finishes covering all 7 of Max's required notebooks (of different sizes, with different interior papers) with the required yellow laminated paper; I locate some agua fresca de tuna fruit; Genevieve turns 1 and spends the day wrestling and high-fiving; Max runs up some pyramids at Monte Alban.
My deep gratitude goes out to all who showered me with love and support during this dramatic month. You brought me here, to Oaxaca!
1. A mastectomy with a little added surprise--removal of all my lymph nodes because the sentinel node had two borderline miscroscopic foci of cancer. Madonna really said it best: "Borderline, feels like I'm going to lose my mind" because I keep almost having invasive cancer and almost having complications, but no test really commits. But they "round up" on my diagnosis and go for more aggressive treatment.
2. Coming down off the Vicodan a couple weeks later, I picked a fight with Steve at a new vegan restaurant called Nutshell. What a shame to D.T. at a cute cafe with wall-sized paintings of Bigfoot painted by...Bigfoot. We're trying to be vegan-ish now because milk products are some vile stuff according to my favorite book on cancer, The China Study, given to me by Andrea, one of my wonderful Portland friends.
3. We got our asses kicked at the Mexican consulate in Portland and couldn't get our FM3 documents to live in Mexico. So, like many who have preceded us, we will attempt to get the papers in Oaxaca instead.
4. Our car did not sell until 10 hours before our flight out of the country.
But now we're here. In less than a week, we've enrolled Maxito at Colegio Teizcali for first grade, stood in the long line at Provedora on Independencia with his list of school supplies, met my future employer, made some new friends, met some old friends, visited the Zocalo, stalked the location of our apartment from 10 years ago, went to our old favorite veggie restaurant El Manantial, and, most importantly, found a favorite produce stall and staked out a lady selling fresh tortillas, both near Max's school.
I'm already feeling the pull of daily life redefined. We rush around, do typical over-planning, worry over trivialities, but it's all in Spanish and it's all in Mexico.
Our adventures to come: Steve finishes covering all 7 of Max's required notebooks (of different sizes, with different interior papers) with the required yellow laminated paper; I locate some agua fresca de tuna fruit; Genevieve turns 1 and spends the day wrestling and high-fiving; Max runs up some pyramids at Monte Alban.
My deep gratitude goes out to all who showered me with love and support during this dramatic month. You brought me here, to Oaxaca!
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