For some reason, probably related to the news I received recently that my co-worker has a three centimeter lump and lymph nodes so swollen that her breasts are turning red, I have been doing self-exams in the bathroom at work.
This practice kind of makes me nauseous. I am a big fan of breast contact of most sorts. And when you're in the shower, it can be a little more pleasant. But there is something about applying finger pressure to softness that gives way to vein and then muscle and bone that makes me so squeamish. Especially since it is supposed to be normal to feel all sorts of lumpish clumps of veins and swelling that is only tissue, but who knows how normal really? Jesus, get me out of my body right now!
On a more thoughtful note, there's nothing like breast cancer, and many other sicknesses, to suddenly cast a blinding spotlight on the amount of intimacy in your life. Although not a particularly good example of this, breast cancer nevertheless seems so exemplary because it is apparently about breasts, something that are supposed to be intimately treasured. (This is of course, really only about women who survive breast cancer. You're lucky if the only thing you lose is your breasts.) I mean, how much does finding a huge lump in your breast mean that no one (you included) has been paying any attention to those things? Is breast cancer supposed to be such a calamity, on top of the thousands of women's deaths, because no one is paying attention to breasts? This would sure be ironic.
[At this juncture, how could I possibly pass up on an opportunity to recall those stupid email flyers that some Harvard undergraduate group sent out, about how "everyone likes breasts" and therefore you should attend their ridiculous event whose proceeds happen to go to breast cancer research. Probably the group should have invited a breast cancer patient to the event so that everyone who "likes breasts" could feel her up and then drop some money into the pot.]
Did you know that breast cancer survivors who have undergone mastectomies often suffer from phantom breast sensations post surgery? Breasts are so important that when we lose them, we have ghost breasts! Aside from the pain and suffering associated with breast cancer, and the dysphoria and depression women often experience after having mastectomies, how much should we care about breasts? For many women, breasts help them define their sexuality and their identity, and I think this is awesome. But wouldn't you be pissed if, after all of that time you and others spent doting on your breasts, that you then had to lose them? I think I would feel sad about losing such a big part of me, and then I might feel angry that breasts are such a big deal to my identity after all.
What is perhaps really at stake is whether women can get over their bodies. I don't mean reject them, I mean more just being less scared of them. Of course, there will always be squeamish people like me. But if women started touching themselves and each other (ahem) more, a lot would be a whole lot less mystical and scary. Take home message: breast cancer kills, don't forget your monthly self-exam, and while you're at it, masturbate more too!
Gosh, I thought you were going to be way more offensive! I'd like to do it for you, but your post is much more nuanced than anything I want to put out.
Posted by: bixi chicks | December 08, 2005 at 10:18 AM