by Tara Sivec
“I know you hated the tattoo and you’re really hating this right now, but it’s something I had to do. I realize I can’t fix you, but at least I can support you. If you are going to walk around without any hair, then so am I.”
Claire continues to rub her palm over my head while she wipes the tears off of her cheeks. “I didn’t hate the tattoo, but this is insane.”
All I can do is shrug. “Yep, it’s totally insane. You need to know that regardless of my actions the last few weeks, there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
Claire drops her hand into her lap but continues to stare at my shaved head. “I hate to tell you this, but you look like a total asshole, baldy.”
I laugh, reaching for the scarf to put it back on my head. Claire puts her hand on top of mine and shakes her head. “Oh, no. Scarf stays off. Also, when I’m done here, we’re going to parade you through the grocery store so people will roll their eyes and make snap judgments about your fashion style. I’m going to tell people you’re in a gang and make you bark at them.”
Claire rests her head on my shoulder and I set my chin on top of her head. We both stare at the IV, the bag of chemo almost empty. We watch the liquid slowly flow through the tube connected to her PICC line. With each drop that falls, I say a prayer that everything I said to Claire today will come true—that she’ll be okay and she’ll never leave me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
Claire tucks herself in closer to me, grabbing onto my hand and squeezing it. “I know you are.”
Carter walks back in the room and does a double-take when he sees my bald head. “Dammit, I knew you’d outdo me. Shaving my balls and pussy isn’t as cool anymore.”
We ignore the strange stares from the other patients as Carter makes himself comfortable in his chair next to Claire and me.
“You’re going to be okay,” I remind her.
Claire nods her head. “Yep, I’m totally going to be fine.”
For the next half our while she finishes her treatment, our high kicks in and everything suddenly seems so funny that we can’t stop giggling. Claire makes me practice my barking for when she takes me to the grocery store and I make her meow like a cat in honor of her poor, shaved pussy at home. I’m pretty sure it’s the one and only time someone almost got kicked out of their own chemo treatment.
Things are finally back to normal and aside from the pot flowing through me, there’s also hope. Pot and hope… it doesn’t get much better than that.
Five months later…
“DREW, WHAT THE hell is in that bag?” I ask as he walks into Claire’s hospital room, hefting the largest duffle bag I have ever seen on top of the table next to her bed.
“This, my friends, is to prove my theory that size DOES matter,” he tells us as he unzips the bag and digs around inside. “I like to call it my Bag O’ Boobs.”
“Wait, since when did anyone EVER say that size doesn’t matter?” Claire asks as we all stare at Drew.
“Since we started talking about your new rack,” Drew informs us, pulling out two lemons and holding them up in front of his chest.
Claire finally finished with all of her chemo treatments two weeks ago and is now undergoing reconstruction surgery. During her mastectomy, the doctor inserted a tissue expander under her skin, but he wanted to wait until her chemo was finished before completing the reconstruction and giving her new boobs. He said that chemo and radiation could sometimes affect implants, so it was easier to just expand the skin on her chest during treatment and then go back and put the implants in when she’s done.
“What you have here is your basic A cup. It’s budding and beautiful, a perfect small handful and it can get the job done. Since you’d never let me touch your old ones, I’m going by sight alone and I’ve determined that you were a generous A cup, correct?” Drew asks Claire.
“Oh, good Lord,” she mutters.
“Now, why go with what you had before when you can get something new and improved? This is your time, Claire. Your time to make all of my boob dreams come true.”
Carter reaches into the bag and pulls out a honeydew melon. Drew immediately snatches it out of his hand and puts it off to the side of the table.
“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he scolds.
Drew goes back to the bag and pulls out two oranges. “This here is the next step up. A lovely B cup that is not only ample but alluring.”
My husband eyes the oranges and then looks at my chest, nodding his head. “True story.”
I roll my eyes as Drew continues, setting the oranges down and pulling out two grapefruits.
“Next we have the C cup. Full and fabulous. A little more than a handful, but looks great in a bikini.”
“I’m suddenly hungry for fruit salad, anyone else?” Jim asks.
Drew ignores him, pulling two cantaloupes out of the bag next.
Jenny walks over and grabs one of them, holding it up to her own boob. “This is me! I have candy loop boobs!”
Drew kisses her cheek, taking the melon back. “Yes, you have lovely candy loops, sweetie pie.”
He turns back to face Claire. “D cup. Voluptuous and va-va-va-voom! More than a handful, more than a mouthful and has a delicious, juicy center.”
“Eeeeew,” I complain.
Jim picks up the honeydew on the table while Drew reaches into the bag and pulls out its match.
“Behold, the double D,” Drew says in awe. “Bountiful and bodacious, porn star tits and the star of many a man’s fantasy.”
Carter and Jim rub their hands over the honeydew with a glazed look in their eyes. I smack the back of both of their heads since Claire is hooked up to an IV in bed and can’t reach Carter.
“I love you, your boobs are perfect,” Jim tells me sweetly.
“Fuck off,” I growl at him.
When the doctor walks in a few minutes later, the boys are in the middle of a heated fruit argument and I’m trying to wrestle the honeydew out of Drew’s hands and back in the bag.
“So, Claire. Have you decided on the size? The tissue expander has given us enough skin to work with a full C cup, but it’s completely up to you,” he explains.
“She’ll be going with the honeydew today, doctor,” Drew informs him.
This time Carter was the one doing the hitting and Drew let out a yelp when Carter’s fist connected with his arm.
“What do you think?” Claire asks Carter.
He shrugs his shoulders. “Babe, I love you exactly the way you are. It is completely up to you.”
She narrows her eyes at him and I shake my head. “Stop lying to your wife. Pick a boob size and man up.”
Very slowly, Carter leans over to the table and picks up a grapefruit, looking at Claire sheepishly. “Um, this is kind of nice.”
I give him a pat on the back. “Well done, sir.”
Claire lets out a sigh and smiles. “I guess we’ll be going with the grapefruit today, doctor.”
The doctor spends a few minutes chatting with Claire about the procedure and making notes on her chart before he leaves the room. Jenny, Drew, Jim and Carter go in search of coffee while Claire moves over in bed, patting the empty spot next to her. I hop up beside her, grabbing the extra grapefruit and holding it up in front of her chest.
“I’m going to have to fire you from your position as president of the Itty Bitty Titty Club. This is a sad, sad day in Titty Club history,” I tell her sadly.
“I’d like to say I’m sorry for stepping down from this illustrious position, but I’m not. I’m going to have FANTASTIC tits!” Claire announces.
“I hate you. You’re going to look so much better in your mother of the groom dress next month.”
“Fuck the dress, I’m going to walk around naked from now on. Show my tits to people when I’m walking down the street. I might even ask random strangers to touch them,” she tells me.
“You could even make up a new cupcake for the store. Tantalizing Titty Cakes.”
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br /> She nods her head. “Creamy C Cup-Cakes. With a milky filling.”
I dry heave and shake my head. “Too far. Jesus God, too far.”
“Will you still love me even when I have a better rack than you?” she asks.
I wrap my arm around her shoulder and nod. “I love you when you’re an asshole, I love you when I’m an asshole, I love you when you have no hair and I love you when you call me on my shit. Of course I’ll still love you when you have better tits than me. I’ll secretly hate you on the inside, but it will be fine.”
We settle back into the pillows and stare up at the ceiling where I taped random notes while she was in the bathroom earlier changing into her hospital gown. It reminds me of that time in college when we got drunk on Boone’s Farm and curled up on our bunk bed, staring at my stickers taped to the bottom of the bunk.
“I think the one that says ‘Hot Tits or Bust’ is my favorite,” Claire states.
“I don’t know, I’m particularly fond of the My Little Pony with the huge rack,” I tell her. “Pinky Pie Porn Star is all the rage.”
Claire laughs. “I told you My Little Pony would make a comeback.”
“And I told you that you would be okay, didn’t I?” I remind her.
“You did. And you were right,” she tells me with a nod.
“I’m always right. Except with the whole shaving my head thing. That was probably a bad move.”
I run my hands over my short, spiky blonde hair that Claire would not let me continue shaving after the first time. She demanded that I let it grow back out immediately. I now resemble that chick from the movie The Legend of Billie Jean and I’m pretty sure Claire just wanted me to start growing it out so she could quote that damn movie every time she saw me.
She puts her fist in the air and shouts, “FAIR IS FAIR!”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being an asshole.”
“Shut up, YOU’RE an asshole,” she counters.
“But I’m your little asshole and I promise, I will never get spooked again,” I tell her solemnly.
“Now you’re REALLY an asshole for quoting Cocktail. Just sit there and be quiet and let’s dream about my new, pretty boobs,” she tells me as she closes her eyes.
“I get to touch them first,” I remind her.
She scoffs. “Obviously.”
NOT EVERYONE HANDLES bad news the same way. Some people scream and cry and rage about the unfairness of it all, others turn all emo and clam up and refuse to accept reality and some continue to have hope and fill their days with rainbows and unicorns and never let the man bring them down.
Then you have me. I thought I could fix everything until life gave us something unexpected that I could do nothing about. My friendship with Claire was tested and I’m happy to say we came out stronger on the other side. Claire now has a better rack than me and her hair is finally starting to grow back.
The doctors are confident that they removed all of the cancer from her body during the mastectomy and the chemo was done as a preventative measure for insurance. There’s always a chance that some of the cancer cells traveled elsewhere in her body and we won’t really know anything definitive for a while, but Claire is happy, she feels great and that’s good enough for all of us. We have a wedding next month to finish planning and we’re not going to let a little bit of cancer get in our way. Claire’s illness forced us all to realize just how fragile life really is and that we can’t take one minute for granted. She went with me last week to get my first mammogram and I’ve already scheduled my next follow-up appointment. Jenny and Drew continue to play “mammogram” at home in between her own appointments. Even though just the thought of it is disgusting, at least she’s being proactive.
Tantalizing Titty Cakes have been a huge hit at Seduction and Snacks. We give them away for free on days when Claire has a doctor’s appointment and she also has a stash of “special” Titty Cakes hidden under the counter for cancer patients and cancer survivors. They get an entire dozen for free, along with a warning to only eat a little bit at a time unless they want to start crawling on countertops, thinking the wallpaper tastes like Snozzberries and barking like a dog in the middle of chemo treatments.
Through it all, we’re staying positive and we are absolutely keeping our sense of humor.
I think people sometimes forget just how powerful laughter is. I know I did for a little while. It took a trip down memory lane to remind me that the best thing about our group of friends is our ability to make each other laugh, even in awful situations. Sometimes you just need to pretend like your IV is filled with vodka, get a horrible rack of ribs tattoo on your body and almost get kicked out of a hospital for filling out their information form with porn titles. Life is filled with enough bullshit and drama, why make it worse? Tell me something. What makes you feel better, crying and complaining or laughing and making fun of a situation? It’s an easy answer and one we all need to remember from time to time. Cancer definitely isn’t a laughing matter, but what are a few giggles and a couple of inappropriate comments going to hurt? Sure, you might get some funny looks when you’re at a funeral or in an ICU ward at a hospital, but that’s just because those people haven’t learned what you have—laughter makes everything better. It might not cure cancer, but it sure makes it a hell of a lot more bearable.
Fuck Cancer. Save second base. Fight like a girl. Do it all and do it with a few laughs because you are amazing, you are strong and you are a fighter, just like my best friend.
Turn the page for more information about breast cancer awareness.
There are nearly three million breast cancer survivors in the U.S.
One in eight women in the U.S. will be diagnosed with breast cancer in her lifetime.
Early detection and effective treatment have resulted in a 34 percent decline in breast cancer in the U.S. since 1990.
Worldwide, breast cancer is the most frequently diagnosed cancer and the leading cause of cancer death in women.
Every 19 seconds, somewhere in the world, a case of breast cancer is diagnosed in a woman.
Every minute, somewhere in the world, someone dies from breast cancer.
Breast cancer knows no boundaries—be it age, gender, socio-economic status or geographic location.
*Information courtesy of Susan G. Komen
http://ww5.komen.org/
My deepest gratitude goes to Claire Contreras. You are the strongest, most beautiful person inside and out and I love you! Thank you so much for sharing your journey with me and making sure I got all the facts straight.
To Donna and Nikki—thank you for lighting a fire under my ass and making sure I did this. I promise I won’t call you whores anymore. Well, I’ll still call Donna a whore, sorry.
For Stephanie Johnson for always being on board whenever I say, “So, you want to read something?” Thank you for supporting me and for being a wonderful friend, my beautiful Cookie Whore.
To Nikole Lasky, my sister from another mister. Thank you for your help in remembering all the stupid shit we did when Nana was sick. It’s tough getting old. Thank you for being my partner in crime and helping me almost get kicked out of entirely too many hospitals for our loud, inappropriate behavior. The next time I blow the sugar from a packet, I’ll make sure to remove my hospital mask so I don’t look like an asshole and embarrass you.
For Mom, Grandma, Jill, Ellen and Aunt Kathy. Fighters and survivors and the strongest women I was ever blessed to be related to.
Last, but not least, for my best friend, MY person—Buffy. This story would not have been possible without you because I never would have known what it was like to have a true friend, my other half, someone who gets me so completely, if I’d never met you. There would be no Claire and Liz without you because we ARE Claire and Liz. I am here, always and forever, all you have to do is call. Sometimes I’ll be a bitch, and sometimes you’ll be an asshole, but we will always cut someone’s mother for each other and that’s how it should be. I am lucky to have been given tw
o soul mates in my life, and even luckier that you are one of them. I love you, asshole.
