Fifteen years ago I looked in a mirror and for the first time, I saw how my body looked without my right breast.
From the moment I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, I was focused on fear rather than appearance— especially since my breasts weren’t my favorite body part to begin with. I liked them, but I didn’t hesitate for an instant to cut one off if it meant saving my life. Not that I had a choice—I had every possible type of cancer spread throughout that breast.
Still, it took weeks after surgery for me to work up the courage to look at the result.
It wasn’t pretty. A scar ran almost 6 inches from my armpit to the center of my chest, leaving me lopsided, with only lumps and bumps and bones and skin.
How much did one C-cup breast weigh? A pound? Two pounds? Funny enough, I tried to calculate this when I stepped on the scale.
The number I saw would have been a dream come true for most of my life.
Growing up with Twiggy as the standard of beauty, plus a father who pressed me to lose weight, I had managed to stay in fighting trim— but figured I wasn’t destined for the boyish body I wanted.
Sometimes you get what you wish for.
Only it wasn’t satisfying; in fact it was the opposite.
Every day I would step on the scale and every day the number would go down.
I weighed less than I had since maybe 5th grade. My clothes hung on me. I would have been a star at Weight Watchers.
Only this was no magic diet; it was chemotherapy. And every day I wondered—-how low would it go? How long could this go on? I managed to choke down a few protein shakes daily; but my body was ravaged; scrawny and pathetic.
Plus I had no hair—and that was the one part of my body I truly loved. Instead of my wavy waist-length hair, I was bald; I looked like a concentration camp inmate. And I don’t say that lightly. That’s what I saw every time I looked at myself.
One day I looked in the mirror and as usual, saw that pathetic body staring back at me with sad eyes. Only this day, I made a promise to myself.
If I survive cancer I will never again complain about a bad hair day or being too fat. I will love my body no matter what it looks like, missing breast and all.
At the time, I had no idea that I would have a second mastectomy—electing to take off the other breast to prevent a recurrence. I had no idea that I would be too thin for the standard surgery taking tummy tissue to make breasts. I had no idea that I would get implants; no idea that my body would reject them. I had no idea that I would end up with no breasts at all.
I had no way of knowing that medication would cause me to gain back all the weight I lost almost overnight. I had no way of knowing that I would gain even more, thanks to age.
I also had no way of knowing that my body would serve me so well—meeting the challenge of cancer and giving me the precious gift of life.
Since that day when I stood in the mirror wondering how low the scale would go…..
- I weigh around 30 pounds more than I did then (I don’t know exactly how much because I never get on it anymore.)
- I’m one of those women who occasionally sees a picture of myself from the early years when I felt fat; and wonder —-what was I thinking?
- My body is a long way from the ideal —too little in the places you want it—and too much in the places you don’t.
But I kept my promise.
Sure, I wish I had breasts — not to mention a waist — but I have never loved my body more than I do today.
And that’s the truth.
This story, also posted on Blogger Body Calendar, explains why I feel so strongly about body image and breast awareness— not only for women with breast cancer but for ALL women. It also helps explain why I created Boobalas—- to inspire attention, awareness and answers. I hope you will check out Boobalas at the top of this website.
amyz5 says
beautiful. and so are you my friend. inside and certainly out. meeting you in person for the first time this summer (on the hottest day of the year!) after knowing you for so long (and so well) all i could think was how i was sitting next to someone who really gets IT. and it shows all over you.
Liz Scherer says
What a lovely post. Thank you for sharing this with us Darryle. As Amy says, you are beautiful inside and out.
DuchessOmnium says
Oh good for you. I have never had anything as frightening as cancer, but I know all about body hatred. I want to cry when I see pictures of myself in my 20s. I thought that was fat?
marla says
The lesson in looking at pictures of ourselves from each decade past is that in every one of those pictures, we all thought we needed to lose weight. We look now and wonder how that was possible. So…..as we look at the mirror in our 60’s and think we need to lose weight, we must remember that in our 70’s we will think this was pretty terrific.
A healthy body image is a big struggle, but one we must win for real peace of mind.
Even if we aren’t picture perfect (by Hollywood standards), if we are at peace with our image, it will show on our faces, which is where true beauty lies.
Nicole says
This brought tears to my eyes. It’s awful what you had to go through, but this kind of post will make all of us appreciate what we have.
Darryle Pollack says
YOu’re the best— Isn’t it amazing how we found each other and could get each other so well even before we met? Thanks for your wonderful words– and I feel exactly the same about you.
Darryle Pollack says
I especially appreciate your comment since you’re so informed and expert on women’s health issues. Guess Amy, you and I have a little virtual mutual admiration society. THank u!
Darryle Pollack says
Isn’t it amazing/awful that almost all women have some experience with negative body image? Even without breast cancer, appreciating our bodies seems to be a lesson most of us learn too late. Would have been great to have a 50-year old brain in a 20 year old body.
Darryle Pollack says
Perfectly put and beautifully said. And so true.
Darryle Pollack says
It was pretty awful but sometimes it seems as if it happened to someone else. I hope you’re right that a post like this helps women appreciate what they have. It’s hard watching young women struggle so much over body image when at our age we know better.
Brenda Miles says
Dear Darryle,
You are so beautiful inside and out; I am sorry that you have suffered so much. You do so much for others; you are one of the most selfless persons I have known. I feel that I know you, by reading your articles/blogs, and I remember that you sent a beautiful ring to me that I gave to my mother. You also sent some Parisian tops to me, which I treasure. I hope to meet you soon. I have just returned from Kuwait, where I went to teach. God bless you, Darryle.
Brenda
V says
I love your body too. And I’ve never been prouder of you.
Nice piece.
V
Ron says
Great to see a husband who loves and respects his wife.
Darryle Pollack says
Brenda, I wish I was half the person you think I am. I do appreciate your words and thoughts—and I’m glad to hear you enjoyed my stuff from Cluttercast. Especially glad you’ve continued to read my blog even from Kuwait! And that you reached out to me. It means a lot. Thanks so much.
Darryle Pollack says
This has to be my favorite comment ever. Seriously. Thank you–think I’ll give you the rest of my reply in person.
Darryle Pollack says
Truthfully, Ron, V made a huge difference in my ability to love my own body–because he did. When I got cancer, we had only been married one year —and this wasn’t what he signed up for. Though I was missing a breast, he made it crystal clear that in his eyes, I was beautiful, the same woman he married. I wish all women with breast cancer had husbands like that. I’ve been really lucky.
Ron says
I recall that he “never signed up” for breast cancer for his new wife and that he was fantastically supportive and compassionate but I think his message above says it all. You are both incredibly lucky to have each other. In my opinion, most men are a–holes (including me, often times) but V has restored my faith in the fact that some of us “good guys” still exist. Thank you both.
Darryle Pollack says
V will love reading your words—and so do I–but think even he would agree with the ones where you say “most men are a-holes” at times. ha ha–know plenty of women who will second that. Still I think there are plenty of “good guys” out there. And yes I’m lucky to be married to one of them.