Being Me (or Thank You for Fake Boobs)


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Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. Philippians 4:11-13 NASB

If you are easily offended, you might want to skip this post.  I’m going to talk about my experience getting fitted for a breast prosthesis  and I have to admit, my odd sense of humor took over.

It was a pretty strange thing to deal with.  Here I am with this huge scar across my chest that I’ve pretty much gotten used to - and now I am trying on fake boobs.  Who knew it was an industry?  Different sizes, shapes, materials, and zillions of bras.  It was overwhelming - and to me, awfully funny.

My oldest son, who is my main caretaker, nonchalantly asked the gal who did the fitting if she had any old lady saggy boobs.

I cracked up.

The presentation of the prostheses struck me as funny, too.  Weight, material, durability, care …  it was pretty surreal.

As I stood facing the mirror - it was all I could do to stop from singing the lyrics to a Sesame Street song - but with a slight twist …

“One of these boobs is not like the other … one of these boobs just doesn’t belong. Can you tell which boob is not like the other?  Hurry, before I finish my song.”

I wondered what the fitter thought of my giggles and odd comments (and those of my son!).

She told me about the many diverse reactions she has experienced.  She told tales of women breaking down into tears, sobbing at their loss.  She told of others who came in angry - and took it out on her.

I was told I was one of the easy ones.

And I think I know why.

You see, I know that my breast does not and never has defined me.  No particular body part does - because the “me” I feel I am, isn’t really all that connected to my body.  As Einstein said, his body was just something to cart his brain around.  (Loose paraphrase there.)

Mine is just something to cart my spirit around until the day I no longer need this body.  I think that might be part of why all of this has been as dispassionate for me as it has been.

From being told that I have cancer, to going through the surgery, to dealing with the anti-hormone meds and the exercises that HURT, I know that this is not the really truly me.  Not yet.

And still - I am me.  I’m the same me that I was pre-surgery, except for the work God is doing in me.

I am now - and always will be …   

me.

And for that, I thank God.

I thank Him for my sense of humor.

I thank Him for fake boobs (which I wouldn’t even get if it wasn’t for the fact it will help me heal better.)

I thank Him for the folks that are helping me and that really care, even though they don’t know me.

And I thank Him for the lessons I am learning - that it really is possible to be content in our circumstances - even ones we don’t like.

Now, I know there are more lessons in the offing, but I’m gonna stay here and now - and with His mercy and grace,

and just be me.

Just as God will always be God.

God, thank you that we are not our bodies.  That these bodies are not all there is to us.  And thank you for love.  Your love, the love of friends and family.  And … thank you for fake boobs.  Amen and amen.

 © deni weber 2010-2015