When my mom’s routine mammogram was flagged, breast cancer stopped being an abstract thing that happened to other families.
It also changed the way I thought about breasts. Mine had mostly been a source of annoyance and jokes. My mom’s, I would learn, meant something very different to her.
When doctors recommended a mastectomy, my reaction was blunt: why didn’t she want it?
The answer involved a 2 a.m. conversation, half a bottle of chardonnay and my mother explaining exactly what her breasts meant to her.
Before cancer, I already had a complicated relationship with breasts
I’d never had a particularly good relationship with mine. My mom has respectable B-cups, while I’d been cursed with DDD. How on Earth that came to be, no one can guess, and she gives me covetous looks to this day.
I’d pawn the Dream Team off to her if I could, believe me. Back pain, special-order bras, trying to find a swimsuit in the summertime. I was not a fan of my endowment.
Friends thought my plight was hilarious and respectfully dubbed them Jelly Bean and JigglyPuff, as this went down during the Pokémon craze in the ’90s.
Then cancer entered the conversation, and breasts stopped being merely annoying, funny or embarrassing.
When my mom’s mammogram was flagged
Everything changed when my mom’s routine mammogram was flagged. What followed was a stressful stretch of appointments and testing, including BRCA testing, while our family waited for answers.
During that time, my mom unconsciously took up the habit of holding her breasts. Not strong enough to be a clutch, more a reassurance that they were still there.
As you can imagine, I ended up with the habit too. Any given hour could find us both with our hands full of Jiggles and Bean, or my mother’s own Bonnie and Clyde.
I couldn’t help wondering whether mine could sense how much I disliked them and were planning revenge of the worst kind.
I’m still not sure whether he was aware of it, but my younger brother also took up the habit, plastering his hand on his chest whenever a movie frightened him or we ran out of peanut butter.
Editor’s note: BRCA1 and BRCA2 genetic testing can identify inherited gene changes associated with increased cancer risk; it does not itself diagnose breast cancer. Breast-conserving surgery and mastectomy can both be treatment options for some early-stage breast cancers, while mastectomy may be recommended or required in other circumstances. Treatment depends on the individual cancer and clinical situation. See the National Cancer Institute’s BRCA fact sheet and the American Cancer Society’s breast surgery guidance.
Why didn’t she want a mastectomy?
Much too soon but not soon enough, we were dealing with the reality of a breast cancer diagnosis and conversations about surgery.
Imagine, if you will, my mom and me at 2 a.m., halfway through a bottle of chardonnay and clutching our breasts as though they were likely to fall off.
My dad kept quiet for most of the action, tiptoeing around the house and respectfully not mentioning the boob-grabbing. He maintained that he’d love her either way, never once trying to convince or cajole. His steady support helped both of us through those weeks, and I’ll forever be grateful for it.
I’ll never forget the day she made her position clear. She slammed her glass down on the counter, looked me in the eye and solemnly declared:
“They’re not taking my tits from me!”
My immediate reaction was not especially nuanced.
“For f***’s sake. My mom has breast cancer. Why doesn’t she want a mastectomy?” I muttered to myself.
Then she started talking about what her breasts meant to her.
What her breasts meant to her
My mom told me her breasts were an important part of her sexuality and an important part of her identity.
Her biggest fear was that a mastectomy would leave her feeling diminished, that she would never be comfortable with herself again.
So we had a deep, drunken conversation about breasts, sexuality and what it meant to be a woman.
At the time, tipsy as I was, she sounded like a sage of the ages. I nodded along, suddenly looking at the decision from a different angle.
Editor’s note: Jess is describing what breasts meant to her mother personally. Breasts do not define womanhood, sexuality or gender identity for everyone.
What stayed with me
A lumpectomy was ultimately performed.
Editor’s note: This is one family’s experience, not a recommendation to refuse a mastectomy. Jess’s mother ultimately had a lumpectomy, but that does not make breast-conserving surgery suitable for everyone. If fear of mastectomy is making a treatment decision difficult, discuss your concerns and the options appropriate to your cancer with your breast care team. Healthdirect explains mastectomy, body image and sources of support.
I realised how tangled self-worth and sexuality could become when illness forced decisions about the body. For my mom, her breasts were not incidental to how she saw herself.
That was the part of the conversation I had not understood when I first found myself asking why she didn’t want a mastectomy.
Nowadays, here in my family, we treat our breasts with respect.
My paranoia never really goes away, though, and I’m still not ready for my own brush with cancer. Sometimes I feel like a ticking bomb, but at least I’ve got my built-in stress balls.
And yes, if you’re wondering, all three of us kept the boob-grabbing habit during times of fear or stress.
The pictures from last year’s haunted house still make me laugh.
More on breast cancer, bodies and support
- Breast reconstruction is not a boob job: Beth Weber explains why reconstruction was about living in her own body, and why calling it an upgrade missed the point.
- Sex after cancer treatment: Diane Mapes writes about desire, intimacy and body changes.
- What Not to Say to a Cancer Patient: “Don’t drink wine!” is a first-person account of intrusive advice, awkward comments and the pressure to stay positive during cancer.
- What to Write to Someone With Cancer offers practical examples for cards, texts and messages when you genuinely don’t know what to say.
Explore more cancer stories from URevolution.
