I found out last Monday that a friend has breast cancer and is having a single mastectomy tomorrow. She's my age (early 40s), single, no family close-by. She was pretty nonchalant when she announced to everyone, saying she didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her or make a big deal of it.
I literally cannot stop thinking about her and what she must be going through. Like most women I have a love/hate relationship with my breasts. They are small, always have been, so of course I always wished they were bigger, even just a little bit. Despite their size, or perhaps because of it, they are perfectly round, symmetrical and, if I do say so myself, rather pretty. I like them. I'd like to keep them.
She's about to have a part of her body removed. Yes, she will have reconstructive surgery and eventually, hopefully, noone will be the wiser. But she will always know there is a part of her that is missing, and what is there in it's stead isn't real.
I don't have any personal experience with cancer of any kind, and know nothing about mastectomy other than what I've researched this week, and I hope I never do. I have a slip in my purse for a mammogram. I'm making an appointment tomorrow.