It is one thing to have cancer. The fear, the daily loss of energy and uncertain future is quite enough, but then if you add a body image issue it becomes even worse. I guess women who have lost their breasts "get" this but at least they can do reconstruction. The swelling in my abdomen is just there, and the inflammation is taking forever to go down.
I started some serious Pilates. Every moment of it is quite awful (not to mention humiliating) but I am feeling much stronger in my core, so it is a superb empowerment. I'm not silly enough to think I could get some six-pack abs or anything but it has made a huge difference in the way I feel. Hey... if I feel like a super model it may be good enough for me at this point. The mirrors at zumba are the testament to my imperfect body, but I compare myself to the forty-year-olds every day. I am not sure why I do this. I have come to realize at sixty that most of the women my own age are far too mature, serious and settled for me. Most of them wear practical shoes and eye glasses from the eighties. I like inappropriately high shoes with ankle straps, funky glasses, and far too much cat eye makeup. My granddaughter, Reese, is transfixed by my obsession and we play "makeover" every time she comes by. Last time, I forgot that she is only four-years-old and I let her play with my lipsticks. She didn't quite get the rolling motion of the tube and (consequently) destroyed four new Laura Mercier lipsticks. The joy on her face was worth the lumpy texture left to their tips.
Every morning, I talk to my friend, Brenda, on the phone, put it on speaker and place the iphone inside my bra... walk around and clean up the house and talk. That's the one good thing about boobs. They hold up all kinds of things and I am like one of those madames who puts receipts, phones, pens, ipods, lists, and granola bars in my bra. (not all at the same time, of course). Only women with big boobs understand this phenomenon. I've had people stop me because my iphone will light up and they must think I am like Tranformer-grammy because there is a light square shining from inside my chest. I forget when I put it there that it lights up. I work out that way all the time - iphone inside my bra with white cords coming out of it attached to my ears.
This odd lymphoma body has led me to the maternity stores. If you have an abdomen as large as your hips you have no other choice than to shop maternity. I found this embarrassing over the last few years, but I had no choice with my tumor baby hiding inside with no chance of delivering the damn thing except when I found a GOOD doctor.
Now that I can wear regular clothes again, I did discover that maternity camisoles will stay on my list of things to buy because they are longer... and who doesn't love a longer camisole other than all women. So yesterday, my chatty Cathy self is talking to Brenda as I am trying to dress myself at the same time... and finagle the two camisoles as the phone and headphones are stuck inside my bra. I began to laugh because it was one of those Lucy moments. I don't think there are too many sixty-somethings who talk on the phone and become utterly twisted (like Christmas lights) while wearing layered maternity camisoles so they can hold their technology inside their cleavage.
Oy.
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