Thanks to Jane Elizabeth Baker, who contributed to our blog today!
A "Dear John" letter to my boobies,
You first showed up 38 years ago when I was 11. Perfect perky little size A's that I loved. We had the best times. Danced all night, traveled to so many amazing places, swam in the Atlantic, Pacific and the Aegean Sea. There were even those weeks in Greece when you got to go topless on the beach. You have been under-wired, pushed up and padded. You have had men fall in love with you, and then learned the bitterness of being heartbroken. Most importantly, you nursed Brontë and Emmy. You were one of my favorite parts of me and, damn, you always looked good!
Over the years you have been squished, poked and prodded by mammos, techs, and doctors. Recently you have had needles the size of meat thermometers pushed into you, and have been cut open and dissected. This morning when I looked at you in the mirror, I didn't smile. You are not pretty or perky to me anymore. You are scarred and bruised and ugly, and you are filled with cancer. I don't use this word often, but I hate you. I want you gone. And tomorrow that will happen. This is my last day to spend with you.
So good bye, good riddance. We did have the time of our lives for so many years, but it's time for you to go, because I have no intention of allowing you to be the end of my story. There are so many more things to do, I'll just have to do it all without you.