April 24, 2007, My reborn day. The last day of my cancer treatments. The day I lost all imagery of fairy tales. I knew no that I wasn’t Immune to the monsters of life.
My well being, was actually my responsibility. I went through all the stages of grieving the lost of one of my favorite body parts. Loss of my Identity. The removal of my right breast took a greater toll on my psyche then I was willing to admit. I’m 4′ 11″, bald everywhere, I went from 130 lbs to 98 lbs in a matter of months. Oh yea, did I mention that I have one breast.
The breasts are worshiped. They provide nourishment to our children. The Western world sees them as sexual objects. We have no problem baring them to strangers in N’Orleans during Mardi Gra. We risk our lives going under the knife for enhancement, not realizing no amount of sugery can’t
fix an ugly soul. And the natural thing, the purpose of our breast, to feed our children, is frowned upon. Women have been persecuted for publicly breast feeding
WTF?
It took me quite a while to be comfortable enough to go back to taking my shirt off around my spouse, not to mention my bra. I had several surgeries due to my body rejecting
the implant. So in 4 different surgeries, in three months, they removed everything once again. I cant’ say that was the easy part, but having to deal with the aftermath, is
traumatic in itself. I don’t want to be known as the “cancer survivor“, I’m so much more than that. But I often find myself referring to that time as a catalyst for whatever
I may be going through at that moment. I have so much empathy for both the survivors and the women who did not survive. I hold myself in a much higher frame of mind,
because I live for those who lost their lives. And for those who unfortunately will have to bare this cross.
Yolanda Crowell is a cancer survivor and advocate.
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