The first slap

The first slap
This photo was taken the day after I was diagnosed, and it is my first bitch slap at cancer. I'm the one with the icepack symbolically placed on my boob. My teammates changed our team's uniform to pink at the last minute, and I came off the soccer field that night with one goal and a whole lot of love. Several of these women are my close friends, but they are all warriors, and they all helped me set the tone for this fight.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

A goodbye letter to my right breast

Dear Right Breast,

You and I, we’ve been together a long time. What’s it been now? Forty-five years? The memories swirl through my mind: Our first bra, nursing the kids, and a zillion other escapades that need not be detailed here... Good times.

But over the past few years you’ve changed. You became unstable and unreliable, making it difficult to discern your true intentions. A sore lump here, a mysterious “calcification” there (or was it DCIS? I’m still not sure). I stopped counting the number of mammograms and sonograms you drove me to, not to mention the tears and anxiety. And things really took a dive this year, when you went rogue on me. Let’s be honest: We both know you’ve been trying to kill me. But cancer? Seriously? And as if that wasn’t enough, you had to drag the nodes into this. Was that really necessary? I’ve always known you were dense, but this is pure desperation.

So it’s over, Right Breast. You’ve had your fun. While I will continue to enjoy life’s treasures for many years to come, tomorrow you’ll meet your brutal end, filled with medical dissection and testing in a cold sterile lab before being discarded for eternity. And you’ll get nothing from me; no sympathy, and no more tears. All I have left for you are five words: Happy Amputation Day. Ta ta!



  1. I think you really put her in her place, Lara! Keep your foot on her neck--or nip! Pam

  2. No words of my own but a gift of a poem, "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop

    One Art

    The art of losing isn't hard to master;
    so many things seem filled with the intent
    to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

    Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
    of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
    The art of losing isn't hard to master.

    Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
    places, and names, and where it was you meant
    to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

    I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
    next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
    The art of losing isn't hard to master.

    I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
    some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
    I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

    -- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
    I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
    the art of losing's not too hard to master
    though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

    Elizabeth Bishop

  3. Your right breast must be male. A lady wouldn't behave that way.

    Love and of course thinking of you tomorrow-- Dr. Dad

  4. Dearest Lara,

    So lovely of you to write to me. I am sorry after all that we have been through that I want "bad" on you and let you down.

    I never meant to hurt you...all of a sudden I wasn't myself anymore. I regret causing you so much pain and fully understand why I am now removed and discarded.

    I leave my best pal "Leftie" to support you for decades to come.



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