Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale (15 page)

Stripping off my
next layer, I thrust the bathroom window open and stick the top half of my body
out, letting the semi-cool afternoon air soothe my skin. I pull the fabric of my
bra back and forth attempting to fan myself and get a bit more fresh air onto
my burning flesh, then I close my eyes and relax, taking the air in, allowing
it to cool me down.

It’s better.
But only marginally.

As I’m standing
waiting for my temperature to return to normal, I hear a grating, sawing noise
quite close. I open my eyes and see Mr. Wells, our rather prudish next-door
neighbour. He’s decided today is the perfect time to trim the big tree between
our properties and is perched high up on the ladder with his pruning saw. He
looks a little stunned at seeing my naked skin and purple bra only metres away.
Lucky I didn’t take that off, too.

“Uh, hi, Mr.
Wells.
 
Lovely day for it.”

Mr. Wells is
mute and understandably so. His wife died some years back. It’s probably been
quite a while since he’s seen a topless woman.

“Uh, I’ll be
getting back to it,” I say, and giving him an awkward wave, I slide the window
closed and return to the bedroom where I collapse in a fit of laughter on the
bed. Bloody Tamoxifen. If this is what it’s going to be like, I think I’d like
my ovaries cut out, thank you.

After a bit, I feel
recovered so I find a flimsy cotton top, pop it on and head back to the family
room. Mum and Colin are ‘warming themselves’ in front of the fire, even though
it’s not on.

“You’ve been
gone a while. Everything okay?”

“Just giving
the neighbours a weekly dose of gossip.”

I offer them
both a cup of tea.

“Thanks,” Colin
says. “That’ll wet my whistle. I can’t abide by that tea they serve on the
plane.” He sits down in an armchair, removing the cap he’s been wearing and
placing it on the coffee table. That’s when I notice his hair. He’s gone from combed
over and white to close cut and as black as a badger. He looks like a comic
version of Satan. His widow’s peak is worthy of a spot in a 1920’s silent film
with Colin cast as the villain.

Honestly, what
is with everybody? You mention you may need chemotherapy and they start doing
things to their heads as a form of support. He could have signed up for the
Pink Pedal Challenge if he wanted to show commitment to a cause.

“I see you’re admiring
my hair,” he says, as he dips into his pocket and pulls out a king-sized Mars
Bar for Rory.

I swallow. I
have no idea how to approach this. “
Yeessss
.
It looks very nice. Makes you look younger.” I hope that’s the right thing to
say. I can’t manage anything more without bursting out laughing, so I scuttle off
to the kitchen to hide my face in the fridge.

I’m getting the
milk out when I hear Mum come up behind me. She wraps me in a hug and, carton
in hand, I return it. It feels nice to have her near. It’s like, suddenly I can
not cope for a second and she’ll pick up the pieces where I fall.

“How are you,
darling?”

“Good. Getting
on with it. Happier now I know the cancer’s gone.”

“I was so
worried.”

“I know but
it’s nearly finished now. I have to get the reconstruction over with. And take
the medication. That’s a conversation for when Colin’s not present. Let me tell
you.”

“Any ideas when
the reconstruction will be?”

“Not for a
while yet. I know nothing about the process other than what Lani’s managed to Google.”
I turn to the bench and toss a couple of teabags into the mugs. I get a packet
of Double Choc Tim Tams from the pantry and pile them onto a plate, taking one
to munch on as I go. “I have an appointment with the plastic surgeon in a few
weeks. He’s very good apparently and quite busy. What happened to Colin’s
head?”

“Don’t ask.”
Mum rolls her eyes to the kitchen ceiling. “I think he’s having some sort of
midlife crisis. It started when he turned sixty a couple of months back. He
went out and bought gym equipment. I’ve tripped over his vibrating thing so
many times it’s a wonder I haven’t had to have surgery myself. The latest is
the Ab Master Pro or some rubbish.”

“Thank heavens,
I thought he’d dyed his hair because of me. Lani shaved her head, you know.”

“No. Colin’s a
silly old fool.
 
He won’t admit his
hair looks ridiculous. I’m almost too ashamed to go out in public with him,
especially when he’s wearing that yellow Tencel tracksuit. He bought a matching
one for me but I refused to put it on after the first time. We looked like
something from an episode of
Kath and Kim
.
People actually stopped in the street to stare when we went jogging.”

I put the hot
drinks and biscuits onto a tray. There’s a glass of milk for Rory, too. He
might need it if he eats that whole Mars Bar at once.

We sit around
the coffee table. Rory is at my feet, eating his chocolate, and tweaking a Lego
city he’s begun building this morning. So far, it has a large ‘hospital’ in the
middle, a toyshop, a lolly factory and another building that he’s said is our
house. Colin is bent over, watching him and directing the construction.

“So, when are
we going bra shopping?” Mum asks. “I can’t wait.
 
I love lingerie.”

Here we go. How
do I tell her, much as I love a good shopping trip, she’s not welcome on this
one? My body has been on display so much over the past couple of months I want
this to be private. I don’t need to parade a string of prosthetic bras through
the shop for her approval.

“Um. You have
to make an appointment.”

“You need an
appointment to be fitted for a bra?” Mum seems amazed.

“Not for the
bra as such, but for the prosthesis. Don’t ask me why.
 
I suppose there are sizes or something.
Everyone’s boobs are different.”

She reaches
over and hands me her phone. “Give them a ring then and make the appointment. I
have a couple of things to do while I’m here but I can work around your
schedule.”

“I don’t know
how long it’ll take. It might be hours. You don’t want to be stuck in the bra
shop all that time.”

Am I saying it
nicely enough? Please don’t come?

“It’s fine,
darling. I don’t care. I’m here to support you.”

Now I feel like
a bitch.
 
I pick up the business
card I was given in hospital and dial the number of the shop. Lucky for me, or
maybe not, they have a free space tomorrow around lunchtime. I’m dreading this.
I’m really dreading this.

“But that’s
perfect,” Mum crows, when I tell her I’ve booked an appointment. “We can watch
Rory’s footy in the morning and then make a day of it with lunch in the city
and a spot of shopping.”

“I’m coming
too!” Rory adds. The only time he deigns to shop is when his Grandmam is
around. He likes that she buys him whatever he wants.

“It’s not that
type of shopping trip, Rory,” I say. “You should stay home with Brendan or
Granddad Colin. We’ll bring you back a treat ”

Then Colin pipes
up, “But I’d like to come. I’ve had an interest in the prosthetic industry for
a long time now. This will be useful for my research.”

Holy Mother of
Amputees. He’d better not start questioning the bra technician. I try not to
groan.

“Well, that’s
settled,” Mum says, taking a sip of her tea.
 
“We’ll all go bra shopping and have lunch after. Do you
think Brendan would like to join us?”

“I’m pretty sure
he has open homes tomorrow.”

And if not,
once the word bra or prosthesis is mentioned, he’ll run for the hills.

*****

Late the next
morning, after Rory has finished footy and we’ve taken him back to the house to
change, we head into the city. As I park the car and we walk the two blocks to
the Hay Street Mall, the feeling of impending doom grows stronger and stronger.
I tried to explain it to Brendan in bed last night
—
that I wanted this experience to be calm and
quiet with me and the bra technician. Alone. He didn’t understand. He didn’t
get that going shopping with my mother is like being in a three-ringed circus
where the clowns have gone bonkers. She’s like a shopping tornado when she gets
started. I’ve seen her spend thousands in the space of an hour. And not on one
thing.

Brendan was
unsympathetic. In fact, he declared I was being selfish.

“She’s only
trying to help,” he said. “She feels bad because she went jaunting around Asia
while you were in hospital.”

“No she
doesn’t! How many times do I have to say it was my decision? I wanted her to
go. What point was there in her being here? She can’t cure cancer.”

I couldn’t
believe we were arguing over this and, worse still, that Brendan had no
understanding of how I felt. He’s definitely changed since my diagnosis. Either
that, or I’m noticing things I never saw before.

We arrive at
Trinity Arcade and head for the lifts. “I’d like to pop into Myers later,” Mum
says. “There’s a new face cream I want to try.”

My eyes light
up. This is probably my last chance to get rid of them. And yes, I know how
horrid that sounds.

“Why don’t you
go now? Take Rory with you. I’ll text you when I’m done and we’ll meet up for
lunch.”

“It’s fine,
sweetheart,” Mum replies, and presses the lift button. “I can do it
afterwards.”

We take the
three flights to the top floor and get out of the lift. I glance up and down,
looking for the shop.

“Look, the AFL
shop,” Colin cries. “I’d like a new Richmond jersey.”

Born and bred
in Melbourne, Colin is a massive AFL supporter.

“Why don’t you
go and have a look while I’m in here?” I suggest, having located the lingerie
shop. I know Brendan, or any other sane man, wouldn’t need a second invitation.
“Take Rory. He loves Dockers. I’m sure there’s plenty of merchandise he doesn’t
have.”

I shove Rory in
his direction, fully realising I’m encouraging my step-father to waste money on
my child. I’m practically pushing them into the AFL shop and I don’t even feel
guilty because all I want is to be alone.

“We’ll go
later,” Colin says, “when we can spend a bit of time perusing. Now, let’s get
inside. You don’t want to be late for your appointment.”

Sure don’t.

The lingerie
shop is tiny and stacked from wall to wall with every imaginable type of
underwear
—
silky, cotton,
camis, corsets, suck-me-in-pull-me-up pants
—
some of the items look extremely expensive and
not the type I would usually wear. It’s very pink and cream. It’s also the only
shop in Perth that specialises in the fitting of breast prostheses, so I have
no choice but to be here if I want one.

My posse and I
approach the counter. I like the way it’s built high, with a divider, so people
can’t see what you’re buying. Discretion is certainly assured here.

“Hi, I have an
appointment at eleven. For a fitting.”

The lady on the
other side of the counter gives me a welcoming smile. “You must be Sophie?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Sue.” She
moves to one side of the counter, leading the way to a set of shell-pink saloon
doors that mark the entrance to a hallway. She pushes one of the doors and
steps through, holding it for me. “Come this way and we’ll get you sorted.”

I follow,
expecting the doors to flap behind me as I do, but no. They can’t because my
little gang of followers thinks tagging along is the order of the day. They’re so
close behind me we’re going to have to back up like trucks to get out.

“What are you
doing?” I hiss at Mum over my shoulder.

“You might need
a second opinion.”

“I think we’ll
be fine. Thank you. Why don’t you wait outside?”

I’m about to
turn away when Colin whips out his iPhone and prepares to take a few photos. I
do not want this moment recorded for posterity and I tell him so, after
explaining to Sue about his little hobby, that is. She may think my
step-father’s some sort of creepy old man, if I don’t.

“But my
research,” Colin says, looking rather disheartened at the idea of leaving. “I
may be able to help. I’ve done extensive research in the last five years.”

Just shoot me
now.

“Sue will help
me. That’s her job, isn’t it?”

I give Sue a ‘save
me’ look and she calmly directs the family to a couch, promising Colin a close
up look at her stash of prostheses and some information on the latest products
that he may not have seen.
After
we
finish the fitting. Mum and Colin flop down like a couple of deflated sausage
balloons, attempted fun aborted.

“We’ll wait
here then, I guess,” Mum says.

“Good idea.”

I slip into the
cubicle with Sue. I feel like I’m in a bad movie where I’m trying to escape
from a monster. “Does this curtain have a lock?” I ask, as I peek around the
side, praying that my family hasn’t moved and are silently sneaking up on me
while my back is turned.