I don't remember exactly what year it was, my mind is telling me 1994 but I can't be certain because I was very young, my grandma found a lump in her breast. It was breast cancer. She was in her 60s at the time and her oncologist recommended that she have a mastectomy to remove the breast and the surrounding lymph nodes. She had the option to have reconstructive surgery but she figured why go through more painful surgery after 60+ good boob years? I didn't get to visit her in the hospital and I don't remember her being sick from chemo or radiation therapy. What I do remember is the first time I saw her topless after her surgery. It looked like her breast had been chewed off by a rabid dog. It was red and angry looking and instead of being flat like I had thought it would be, it was concave. So in essence, she had the opposite of a boob, she had a crater in her chest. The incisions were not straight but ran jagged and the overall look was something out of a horror movie. My grandma lived a long time with these scars on her chest. She had a silicone boob that she would use when she went out to someplace special and a foam boob she would use when she was just heading out to the grocery store. When she was at home, she didn't wear any boob at all. I was always impressed by how well she handled her lack of a breast especially as I got into my teenage years and realized that I wasn't a late bloomer, I would just never really bloom. A difficult concept for me to come to terms with because my mom and my sister are both well endowed and I just figured I would be too.
Three years ago my grandma was diagnosed with lymphoma. Now in her 70s and suffering from diabetes, the prognosis was less than spectacular. My grandma died of complications from lymphoma after her first chemotherapy treatment caused her to develop a bacterial infection in her blood that she was unable to fight off. I was at work when I got the call that my grandma was in the emergency room. The urgency in my mom's voice told me I had to leave and I had to leave now. When I got to the hospital my grandma was in one of those curtained ER treatment areas on a gurney. Her blood pressure was low and she was having trouble remembering where she was and who she was and what was going on. My grandpa was sitting on a hard plastic chair next to her looking overwhelmed. I immediately knew that whatever happened that day would change my life forever, and it did. After some introductions the ER doctor called me out to the nurse's station. There she asked me if my grandmother had a do not resuscitate order. I knew that she did and I was told to send my grandpa home to get it. I was also told in no uncertain terms that if there was any family that was from out of town they needed to leave wherever they were, immediately. She stopped short of saying if they wanted to see my grandma alive one last time. I got the picture. I knew what was going on.
Soon my grandmother was having trouble breathing. The nurses were attempting to put a breathing tube in her throat but since my grandmother was in and out of consciousness she would fight them when they would try. I held her hand and told her it was ok. They were trying to help her and she needed to let them do their jobs. After the tube was in place, she would try to pull it out and again, I'd have to remind her that it was there to help and she had to leave it in place. After what seemed like an eternity, she was transferred to the ICU where finally she was sedated. It was a relief to see her resting peacefully after seeing the terrified look on her face every time she would come back to and try to pull the tube out. At this point, family had gathered and I was told to go home and shower get and some rest. I left the hospital uneasily. I knew that she was dying and I didn't want her to be scared when she left us. Within a couple of hours I was being called back. Her time was coming to an end. The priest had come and given her her last rites and minutes later she was gone.
Up until she had been diagnosed with lymphoma and started feeling really horrible, my grandmother got regular manicures, pedicures, and perms. She never left the house without painting on her eyebrows, putting a ring on every finger, and finding the right earrings to match her outfit. She had shoes in every color, outfits for every holiday, and jewelry for every occasion. After her passing, it was my job to get her makeup and to the funeral home. My mom had already taken her dress. I also had to go to Walgreen's and find the right shade of red nail polish for her nails. Revlon. I still have the bottle. The only thing we forgot was her boob. Shortly before the viewing the funeral home director let us see her. She looked beautiful, except for the space on her chest where her boob should have been. We didn't have enough time to go find her boob nor we were sure that it would stay straight given that she was lying in the casket. But my mom came up with a solution. Since I've never been well endowed, I'd taken to wearing water filled pads in my bras. My mom knew this and before I had time to think she was reaching in my shirt trying to fish them out. Suddenly, my lack of boobs was a good thing. We didn't end up using the water pads. They were too heavy and too small to fill out the space. We did, however, find a box of tissues and we stuffed my grandma's bra. I just hope after all this time, her stuffing has held up.
