Get Outta the Way

Heather,

Thank you so much for sharing this story with us. Your mother is very courageous and brave. She is a role model for all of us.

Amy

I am 5’4 and always considered myself a tomboy, trying to keep up with my much taller, older brother. I started my period very early, so it wasn’t long before I started developing breasts as well. It was so frustrating - they just kept growing, doubling in size seemingly overnight. When I would get dressed for third grade - I would cup my hands over them and pull them to the side, sighing, “if only you’d just get outta the way.” Sure, both my sister and I were made fun of for developing before other girls - our brother and his friends tormented us mercilessly. But, shopping for our “training” bras was the worst - there weren’t large enough cup sizes in that section. So, we had to find something in the ladies department. It was too late - there would be no “training” involved.
Through my teenage years, I attained kind of a love-hate relationship with them. I still felt like they were in the way, but had to admit that they filled out a shirt rather nicely. On occasion, I would still push them to the side and mumble under my breath, “if only you’d just get outta the way.”
The first time I had ever heard of breast cancer is when I was quite young. My mother’s Uncle had a mastectomy to remove first one breast and then the other, but he died anyway in the mid-1970s. In my early 20s, my mom and I can created a new sort of bond, with me as her caretaker after she sustained a brain injury and had to regain her independence. We were together day and night and talked about everything under the sun, repeatedly, because she didn’t have the ability anymore to remember beyond a few minutes or hours. With this new closeness and intimacy because I was responsible for bathing and dressing her - we may have talked about body image, but I really don’t remember.
A few years later, the dreaded “C” word of my mom’s generation reared it’s ugly head in our lives. She had regained sufficient independence to live on her own and was responsible for getting herself to her own doctor’s appointments at that point in her life. So, she was by herself when she was told after her annual exam that she had breast cancer. In her typical self-reliant manner, she didn’t tell any of us. I used my key and came to visit her at her house one day when she wasn’t expecting me. I found her in her bedroom, undressed from the waist up, with her well-worn hands cupping her breasts. Her head was bowed, as though to whisper to them and I heard her say, “you WILL get outta my way.” Shocked that she knew my secret wish from my childhood, I felt comfortable asking her why she was saying that to her own body. She shared that she was sick, but that her breasts weren’t going to stand in the way of her growing older.
She fought and won that battle with stage IIIC breast cancer and her breasts did end up getting out of the way. She decided that her body, although sick, was willing to listen to her. So, she developed a “get outta the way” attitude in other aspects of her life. A hill in the middle of a breast cancer awareness walk - “that hill isn’t going to get outta the way - I am going to beat it too.“ She trudged forward. A concerned daughter or doctor telling her to limit her activities, “get outta my way, I’ve got lots more living to do.” And she has, this is year six of her Surviving, Overcoming and Winning against breast cancer.
So, for me - she serves as a role model and inspiration. She is a little older, a lot wiser and has a new and unique way of doing things. She grocery shops by pink label, making meals out of strange combinations of foods bearing the pink ribbon. Most of her exercise is about getting ready for Walk for the Cure, Awareness or Relay and her vacation destinations are to join walks in other cities. Her wardrobe mainly consists of t-shirts from these events and comfortable shoes for going the distance. And she does… so obstacles be warned, “Get Outta The Way!”
Heather