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That morning, I left the house ready to seize the day (or so I thought)…
- 5:15: I headed out the door in my swim suit, cover-up and a light jacket for a 5:30 a.m. physical therapy appointment and aqua therapy session.
- 7:30: Out of the pool and showered with just enough time to get dressed and make it to an 8:00 a.m appointment.
- 7:31: Panic sets in as I realize that I neglected to pack a bra.
Seriously?? All I have in my possession is a soaking-wet bathing suit, a damp cover up, a skirt, and a very sheer – very WHITE – peasant blouse to wear through the halls of a busy medical facility? There was no way I was leaving that locker room without so much as a pair of Band-Aids between my girls and that blouse, so I decided to make due with the thin, black athletic jacket that I’d worn over my bathing suit earlier. It was better than nothing, and besides, zipped half way up there was just enough lifting and separating to ease my fears that all the world see that I was (ahem), ‘working without a net.’
Resisting the urge to fold my arms across my chest, I self-consciously made my way through the lobby and halls of Oahu’s busiest military hospital, determined to rush to my next two doctor appointments and then hightail it back home. I was just thankful that I didn’t have to stop at the commissary, where dress code mandates civilian clothing “must fit properly (not too tight, not too loose)” and that patrons are prohibited from wearing pajamas, swimsuits and spandex-type gym attire.
And then it occurred to me to wonder, why was I feeling so embarrassed about not wearing a bra? How is it that in our society, going commando to avoid those pesky panty-lines perfectly acceptable but failing to keep Victoria’s Secret is taboo? I was completely covered, so really — what was the big deal?
Then I thought about my Aunt Treva, a proud, feisty southern gal who, while always the lady, wouldn’t think twice about “letting it all hang out.” A proud breast cancer survivor, Aunt Treva aggressively attacked her cancer, opting for a double mastectomy. Then, to reclaim what was rightfully hers, she underwent reconstructive surgery that included having “new” nipples tattooed on. My Aunt Treva would never worry about what others thought of her breasts , nor should I.
Thanks to Aunt Treva, I was feeling liberated – both literally and figuratively. It was exhilarating! I proudly made my way to the doctor’s office and sat in the waiting room, head held high and chest – well… out.
Before heading home I made a quick stop to schedule one more appointment — that mammogram I had been putting off for too long.
Take care of your breasts, ladies. Know your family medical history and make sure you are getting your yearly exams and that your mammograms are up to date. Give your girls the support they need, but don’t stifle them – let ‘em breathe now and again. Trust me, it’s liberating!
As for me, note to self: Play it safe. Always keep an extra bra in your gym bag.
In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, this post is dedicated to Aunt Treva, who bravely battled breast cancer and won.