I constantly talk about my nubs.
I’m two weeks into a Tarot class at Alta View Wellness Center, and I think I have brought my nubs up more times than I have talked about the suit of cups. Zachary thinks they are hilarious and sometimes we talk about what we can do to them to jazz them up a bit, like drawing little nipples on them, bedazzling them, or sticking some googly eyes on them.
And then we laugh and laugh and laugh.
Dark irreverent humor keeps me sane. And luckily my kids love to indulge in it too. One of the most hilarious, yet completely inappropriate (but hilarious) jokes my seven year old made was when we were watching TikTok and this advertisement popped up for a binder (for those who don’t know, a binder is a compression undergarment worn to flatten breasts.) The ad shows a sad young person and a voice comes on like an 80s commercial, “Tired of your breasts?” and my kid, without missing a beat says, “Then just get cancer!”
He looked shocked because he couldn’t believe that he said it out loud, and then we roared. Honestly, the two of us could not stop laughing. I was crying with laughter and we watched it again and again as we riffed on increasingly hilarious renditions on the breast cancer comment.
Zachary knows more than a seven-year-old should about mortality and serious illness. His mother was diagnosed with not one but two cancers in one year. Breast cancer in July 2021, and Endometrial cancer in July 2022. (Sam has had his own health challenges in the last year +, but that is his story to tell)
But, and this is the thing I love about our family, we kept laughing. We laughed about my exhaustion. We laughed about my drains. We laughed about my Buddha belly. We laughed about cancer. We laughed about my nubs— btw, my nubs are the two little bits of fat between the breasts that don’t count as breast tissue, but still would look better out after a mastectomy, but that is neither here nor there, because I am just glad to have my life saved and not really judging the sewing job my surgeon did. I mean, she did a great job for having sliced me open from armpit to the center of the chest, for severing my nerves, removing 12 lbs of breast tissue and then sewing me up as flat as possible. I got some nubs, some rolls, some pinched skin. It is part of the process for someone shaped like me, and honestly, my nubs are soft and look like the top of a giraffe’s head and I like them.
(if you are wondering why I am talking about my nubs, today marks one year since I had a double mastectomy and was cured of breast cancer and so i keep thinking about what this last year has been about, you know, like you do.)
It’s been a weird year. The things that I thought would matter do not. Like I worried about how clothes would look. I worried about bathing suits. I worried about being naked and seeing my body. I like my body better without breasts even though I am keenly aware that my body kind of looks weird and is lumpy and people don’t know what to make of me. I worried I would not be able to work as much. And it is true. I have had to slow down a lot and realize that surgeries take a toll, so now, I have some work-life balance and it is awesome. Workaholism doesn’t work-a-whole lot (ism?) That was kind of a Dad joke, but told by a mom might be a Faux Pas. (OMG, someone stop me now.)
Honestly, and this might sound strange, but I have felt an immense peace about my body. Having cancer healed something in me. I saw myself as capable of healing. Strong and vibrant and positive. I am proud of myself for consistently taking myself to the doctor for routine check-ups. It is not easy to go to the doctor when you are fat, because it is all some doctors see. The first breast surgeon told me I wouldn’t want to go flat because heavy people look weird without boobs and they are so used to it. Fat bias not only exists, but it probably causes most of the health problems that fat people face.**
I left that surgeon’s office and found an incredibly kind surgeon who would respect my desire to have a flat chest and not undergo unnecessary surgeries or radiation (something contraindicated for those with autoimmune disorders ANYWAY, but the first surgeon thought that was a small price to pay for BOOBS!) When I had endometrial cancer, I went to a surgeon who told me my fatness caused my cancer and suggest the best follow-up I can do is bariatric surgery. (I literally have a genetic anomaly in this tumor that was caused by nothing I did in my life.) And so I left and said, Fuck that guy. And I found another incredible surgeon that told me I was young and healthy and was going to do awesome. And you know what? I decided to believe him. In the end, I had ZERO pain, no discomfort. And felt better than before my hysterectomy.
But fighting for my own good healthcare made me realize that all this friggin’ self-care work WORKS. I am living, thriving and happier than ever simply by getting a mammogram and a yearly PAP smear. It was hard, don't get me wrong. I had infections and long weeks of open wounds and exhaustion. I have to learn how to accept a lot of things. I thought I would never not have pain. That my children might face the same future as me.
But in the end, I realized that my cancers were so much easier than they could of been if I had decided I wasn't worth the trouble of going to the doctor. If I let a doctor convince me to do something I know I didn't want to do. I just did the next right thing for me because I love and care about myself. Because I have learned over these last 12 + years, how to mother myself. I said, “I know you hate the doctor and getting weighed. I know you don’t like getting your boobs squished in a machine, but it’s so much better than dying of breast cancer.” And so I did it. Those routine exams caught my cancers early before they were in stages that needed chemotherapy or radiation.
(Incidentally, I just said to my kid this morning at the dentist, “Everyone hates the dentist, but we go every six months because that is so much easier and less painful than getting a cavity filled. And you know what, you have done so many really hard things and you can do this.” Those are the same exact words I said to myself last time I went to the dentist too, btw.)
And so, on the anniversary of my double mastectomy, my Boob Voyage if you will, and the birth of my beloved nubs, get your girl and boy bits screened. If you are struggling with self-love and self-care, start there. Like a little commitment to yourself. Just go to the doctor even if you don’t want to, and ask for your mammogram, or your PAP smear, or your colonoscopy, or just feel your balls up or your tetitas or ask a friend to and just check. Do it for you. Early detection literally saves lives. Self-care saves lives.
It saved mine.
My love is always with you,
PS. ** I could literally go on a soap box and rant about this for pages, but I will spare you the lecture. But Aubrey Gordon’s piece Weight Stigma Kept Me Out of Doctor's Offices is really important, so read it.
PPS. I have some great things coming up and you can check them out here
PPS. I decided to use a picture of the shirt I wore today that says Chingona with a breast cancer ribbon. Chingona means "bad ass woman." My nubs are under that shirt. Seemed a wee bit more tasteful than just doing the full monty for you. Mastectomy scars can be a little hard for people to look at, but I love mine.
crows and other things we wait for
I have been trying to make friends with the crows in my yard. I watch videos of people slowly drawing them in with peanuts and other food. I talk to them, “Good morning, Crows! I have some peanuts for you.”
Sometimes it is just like that. You put out the call. And you wait. This morning, after I put the peanuts out and welcomed the crows in, I saw one land on the porch and look in the window. Later, I noticed my dogs eating every peanut they could reach. I just watched them as I drank coffee and laughed. Sometimes life is just like that and you have to laugh.
Today is exactly six months since the day of my double mastectomy.
I woke that morning, September 15th, like always, sitting with the children while they got ready for school. I just wanted to feel normal one last time, because I had no idea what life would be like after surgery. I wondered how I would feel 24 hours later, or even a month after. Would I like my body? Would I be in so much pain I couldn’t sit up? Would my cancer be invasive after all? Would I need chemo and radiation? What was my life going to look like? I remember thinking, “By the end of the year, this part will be over.” That didn’t seem that far away. The end of the year. I had endured so many things in my life. Three months didn’t seem that long.
And yet as I went through those three months, it felt long. I couldn’t remember not being in pain, not being totally fatigued or experiencing tightness and discomfort, not having open wounds. I had the surgery, then developed an infection in early November and had to have my wounds reopened to drain and drain and drain and drain, packing my own chest wall with gauze. I felt faint the first time I did it. Not from the pain, but the idea of it—stuffing my heart chakra with soft things so it would heal. It sounds like a metaphor. Maybe it is a metaphor.
There is something profound about opening the chest. I can remember in one of my Medical Anthropology courses at university learning about heart surgery and the profound changes people went through after a doctor “fixed” their heart. I thought about that a lot in the last eight months, about how my doctor was taking the small hard balls of cancer out of my body and what’s more, she was taking out these large breasts only really here to serve others—my babies, my lovers, strangers who gawk on the street. She gave me a body that was healed of cancer. A flat-chested, Buddha-bellied and healed body.
I have often said that this surgery felt like the end of the work, not the beginning. There is a freedom in the idea of being healed. My cancer was so early and contained that taking the breasts quite literally cured me of cancer. “If only emotional healing were as easy as this,” I thought many times. And truly, removing my breasts, while incredibly painful, exhausting, and intense, has been so much easier than trauma work.
Healing and uncovering trauma felt endless. Trauma laid in wait in my body, readying for a time when I felt safe enough to see it, when I had done enough work to really reparent myself in a healthy ways. In the last six years of discussing and working actively on my trauma in therapy and in my spiritual work has been so exceptionally difficult. I never had a moment where I thought—one day, this will be over. Healing trauma seemed to be a never-ending cycle of uncovering and uncovering and uncovering I felt stripped of all ego, of all identity, of all that made me me. And Me, it seemed, was simply a conglomeration of defenses, disassociation, and survival, which, when pared away, simply left me a wounded child who needed parenting.
The word I chose for 2021 was Healed. It was the process of being done with reliving and understanding my trauma and their responses, of being actively engaged in the processing part. I was ready to be in the moved-on part. I thought I might be there, but I wasn’t. It wasn’t until I got the call that my biopsy was positive for cancer that I had to reckon with what healed meant. Because it was at that moment that I said, “How do you want to approach this thing?” And I thought about my clients and what I tell them when life falls apart. It’s not one thing to do. It is an entire mindset shift and a reframing away from “This is happening to me” to “. Gratitude. Ritual. Asking for help. Energy work. Prayers. Herbs. Grieving. Connection. Community. Laughing.
And I laughed so very much.
I had appointments with my breast surgeon every week for two months after I had developed the infection in my chest. I asked her about her life and her education. While I lay back on the table, she tended to my wounds. We are the same age—the surgeon and I. And I developed a deep feeling of kinship and love for her that I never felt for a healthcare provider. Maybe it was because she is so kind, patient, non-judgmental. Or maybe it is because I trusted her and trust has been a hard one for me. Or maybe it was because she wore a Blue Kyanite and Amethyst pendant at the appointment before my surgery. I told her then that I was a crystal healer and Reiki master. She said, “You are? Great. You will be fine. You will have no trouble healing then. Do you want me to wear this for your surgery?” And I nodded, tearing up. And she wore it. She believed I could heal. I believed I could heal. And now I have healed.
Six months ago as I lie in my hospital bed, only a nightlight illuminating the room, I allowed myself to be surrounded by the love and prayers people were sending me. I could see the faces in my mind’s eye and I felt like I was floating, absorbing love into my cells. My chest felt like I had an iron bra on and constricted in a way that was both comforting and disconcerting. A very clear voice said:
Angie, there is going to be a time when you feel no pain and simply have a scar. You will be healed.
It was a mantra I said to myself this autumn and early winter. When I developed an infection, I thought:
Angie, there is going to be a time when you feel no pain and do not have open wounds. You will be healed.
When I developed COVID in the midst of the open wound situation, I thought:
Angie, there is going to be a time when you feel no pain and no illness. You will have closed wounds and no cough. There is going to be a time when you feel no pain and no illness. You will be healed.
So, I wanted to share this on the anniversary of my six months post-surgery if you are struggling. There will be a time when you will feel no pain and have no illness. There will be a time when your trauma work is done or when your depression has lightened, or your addiction is in remission, or your heart is not so broken. There is going to be a time when you feel no pain and do not have open wounds. You will be healed.
Until then, watch the birds come back to the feeders. Cry. Create a ritual. Use some crystals and herbs. Write about it in your journal. Scream in the woods. And laugh.
rebirth
I have been thinking about rebirth so much these past few weeks, maybe even months, as the animals of rebirth began appearing for our monthly journeys in the Spring. Jaguar showed up first, the Queen of Shadow work and the one who often appears for dismemberment, then Snake, the shedder of skin and the symbol of transformation, and then in August, Beetle came…a small guide of rebirth who turns literal shit to nourishment, recycling our difficult experiences into powerful spiritual lessons. My personal work with Vulture prepares me, of course, intimately connecting to death and rebirth.
Through this entire process with breast cancer, it has felt like the end of a dis-ease, not the beginning. A personal invitation to be reborn into the healed Angie, the one who has done the work. That might sound strange, but it felt like the culmination of many years of working through trauma, grief, soul loss, and heart chakra imbalances. Like there is this part of you—over the heart, that has manifested cancer in my milk ducts. Interestingly, the cancer developed in a breast I was never able to produce milk out of. That is not exactly true. The milk was produced, but it could not be expressed. (Is that a metaphor or what?) I had a child who died, and I remember how engorged and painful my breasts were, filled with milk and no child to drink. I put huge cabbage leaves on it, until they withered and I smelled like an Eastern European soup. I would cry in the shower as my breasts would weep milk. Except the right one. It would just stay hard and engorged and no milk would weep until it just stopped trying.
During those days, I often thought about this class on Death and Dying in college with one of my mentors Dr. John Raines. He said that babies cry because they know they deserve food, comfort and love. And the cry, he explained, was exactly designed to be uncomfortable for humans, it is a noise we want to stop. It is only when they cry and no one comes that babies stop crying. My breasts were the same. They eventually stopped weeping milk because no baby came to feed.
It is interesting that this tidbit came from a class on Death and Dying. We have those moments we face death both metaphorically and literally. Maybe we survive a great trauma that threatened our life, or we stand and face our demons and get sober, or we ask for a new way to be in the world. In the process of earth medicine initiation, we undergo the process of rebirth through the shamanic experience of dismemberment, where, in the journey state, we literally ask our animals to rip us apart, tearing at us, killing us in journey, so that we may rebirth. With Vulture as my guide, she asked me to release my soul. She could not tear me apart alive. This process of releasing brought up so many emotions and feelings of helplessness that had permeated my life…how do I let go when all I have been doing is holding on tight? It is a zen koan, a paradox for survivors. Somehow I did, though. That is the thing…somehow we do. We do it when the holding on is killing us.
When I had my first chakra balancing many many years ago, my heart was completely closed. The pendulum did not move. It just stood stock still. It disturbed me. I had learned through my many years of life how to shut my heart off. Immediately, the self-punishing thoughts flooded in. “Oh my God, I am broken. My heart is shut. I am a monster.” (This is why I teach my students to be kind and gentle when doing a chakra balancing.) It has been decades-long work to open my heart and to trust people. It was well before I became a healer that I started, but I knew then that the pendulum was telling me something I needed to pay attention to. Opening my heart involved many healers, many therapists, many releases, many times feeling so vulnerable and fearful that I took steps backward and then when I was ready, started back on the path.
I say this because there is no healer that isn’t a wounded healer. Our DNA, our strength as healers comes from our wounds. It comes from our humanness, not our divinity or otherworldliness. While I appreciate there are many who feel shadow work is not as important as light work, I politely, yet adamantly, beg to differ. Any lightwork done without being aware of your wounds ultimately will take you back on the same path again and again. You encounter the same lessons, the same kinds of people (friends, lovers, colleagues, enemies.) Our wounds are invisible blocks that keep us in an eternal loop on the spiritual path, like Sisyphus, the Greek King who cheated death twice and was forced to roll a huge boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll back down. Sisyphus’s story has come to represent any futile, yet difficult task. Unless, we can identify our own triggers, wounds, and blocks; make them visible then dismantle them, we stay in this endless Sisyphean cycle. This is the rebirth. To simply emerge from the tedious work, to slowly break down that rock, our wounds into smaller pieces, so then we can break that cycle. Then our journey isn't so tedious.
Where shamanic and earth medicine work excel is in the rituals, ceremonies, symbolic work of that rebirth. We call in the snake, the beetle, the vulture to help us find a way to break our cycles. This work is a lifelong process. I have been intimately involved with this trauma work and work around my own heart for so long it is almost comical, but also I didn’t start it to be a good healer or to write a newsletter or blog post. I started it because that heart, the one closed and unable to weep, demanded I look at it. This petulant, hurt child within me said, “I cannot be ignored any longer. I will not be neglected. I need to be loved.” It began crying and I began responding. And in turn, I healed those around me, who tried to get into that closed heart for years.
Self-care and self-love sound like such bullshit terms, but they are juicy, deep, life-altering journeys. They aren’t just bubble baths and dark chocolate and masturbation. Self-love embodies self-compassion, self-care, self-worth, and self-actualization. We must remother ourselves, or refather ourselves. That has been the challenge—seeing and loving myself unconditionally. But when I struggle, I look at my own children and think, "You are just like them--beautiful, perfect, worthy of care."
It is strange to see my body without breasts. I don't NOT like it. It is just an adjustment. I am almost starting to like it more. I have been trying to take some time with no bra and no shirt to just get used to how I look now—a huge scar running across the place where my babies suckled. My belly sticks out like a big Buddha belly and my chest goes in, almost concave. Right now it is all puckered and there are major folds in it that are angry and tight. They will soften over time. Just like the other scars I have healed in my life—things soften with time. I can honestly say that I feel complete, even without my breasts. This body does not seem ugly, or unlovable, or unworthy at all. It is simply an adjustment.
This is what healing gives you—unconditional radical self-acceptance. I have been working on it for years by demanding I love myself. I thought that if I just said it enough, wrote it out on enough intentions, it would happen, but the truth is—that isn't what did it. You are not in control of the healing timeline. It is something you cannot fake. You simply love yourself until you are willing to accept the love. That's the thing--for me, self-love was about accepting the love, not giving it. Giving love was easy for me, but accepting it was a whole other thing altogether. You become gentle with your inner voice. One day something weird happens—you get diagnosed with breast cancer, or your partner leaves you, or you notice that your face is wrinkled and your hair grey, or you break something valuable and through this long rebirthing process you realize you aren't mad at you, or disappointed, or embarrassed, or ashamed. You stand tall and you say, “Yep, that is me, still me, still the same me as yesterday, still worthy of love and acceptance. I love you. You got this, kid.”
You got this, kid. I love you.