October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I have to admit I didn’t fully realise this until today. I knew a lot of breast cancer things were appearing on my various social media feeds but I thought that was because I’ve followed loads of breast cancer things, not because it’s actually a national drive for awareness. I wondered if it had passed me by because I’m too wrapped up in my own cancer world? Or that I’m happy talking cancer to anyone who’ll listen? Or that I’m still a little oblivious to what’s going on around me because of the chemo? Which, incidentally, I’ll blame until the end of my days for stealing my common sense (among other things).
Have you heard about Marks and Spencer’s #showyourstrap campaign? I didn’t until I read this article.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-life/11911750/MandS-criticised-by-breast-cancer-survivors-over-ShowYourStrap-bra-push.html
It caused a bit of a stir on Twitter and a flurry of people complaining that the campaign glamourised and belittled breast cancer. In response to it the #showyourscar hashtag was developed, and what a hashtag it’s proved to be! Women (and a few men) from all walks of life have come out fighting and posted photos of their breast cancer surgery scars. There have been features in newspapers, interviews on TV and a universal fist pump socking it to those models and celebs who are coyly or brazenly or seductively taking a selfie with their pretty little bra strap in perfectly lit view. And all for the sake of a three quid donation to Breast Cancer Now. Good on ‘em.
So what really is the issue with this? The nub of it – possibly – is that it’s breast cancer we’re talking about. There’s a pink, fluffy quality to breast cancer that has been created by our society. I wonder if it’s because breasts – being the sexual objects they are – are considered to be under the ownership of society rather than the individuals attached to them? That in our society we have such a specific view of what a breast should be and what it should be used for that marrying those uses with a deadly illness is, actually, terrifying.
I saw one of those put this on your status for an hour things on Facebook some years ago, it was for another charity, I can’t remember which one. Here’s a little quote from it
‘…this disease isn’t pink or sexy and it doesn’t involve boobies…’
I was enraged at the time even though I had no idea my own life would take a journey through that pink, sexy, boobie filled land that was breast cancer. I was enraged for all the people who had suffered and who’s suffering was being belittled and negated. The words never left me. Then, when the bloody thing popped up on my Facebook timeline soon after my own diagnosis, I sobbed.
At that point I hadn’t had my surgery. Crikey, for that sentence I almost wrote at that point I still had my traitorous boob, which I realised immediately is also indicative of the problem. It’s like anthropomorphism but for breasts. Breasthropomorphism. Is that too long for a hashtag?!
We give breasts human characteristics. We might describe them as perky or jolly or bad boys or the girls. Mine (pre-mastectomy) were once described as ‘friendly’. Not so friendly now, more angry.
The day of my surgery was long, convoluted and difficult. The three and a half hour operation to remove my left breast and nipple and then perform a reconstruction using an implant was – thankfully – successful. Before the op I’d worried about how I would feel when I looked at my breast again. I almost took a photo of it beforehand but was worried it would end up on the family photostream!
At the hospital in the evening when my family had gone home, the ward was mostly quiet and the nurse wasn’t looking I hauled myself out of bed and dragged my aching body and drip stand to the nearest bathroom. I did a wee, gathered myself and faced the full length mirror. Then I lifted up my nightie and looked. Writing this now is making me tearful. This is one of the many places I haven’t allowed myself to go back to yet. Thank you for sticking with me.
So I lifted up my nightie and looked. And it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Where my nipple should have been were three inches of bloodied stitches. My skin was bruised and stretched and still had the black marker pen lines, dots and crosses my surgeon had drawn on before the op. It wasn’t as horrific as it could’ve been. Nowadays this is my party line; it wasn’t as horrific as it could’ve been.
Longer term the scar has shrunk but the implant is now beginning to show signs of reaction to the radiotherapy, in time it’ll look like a raisin and it’ll have to be done again. I’m thinking of going for a more natural reconstruction next time but that’s by the by. When I’m wearing a top you can’t notice any difference unless you scrutinise really carefully and spot that my left breast lies about an inch higher than my right. When I’m naked the lack of nipple is glaringly obvious and while I’ve tried to be totally open with my husband and boys about how it looks and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of or worried about, I can’t help feeling conspicuous if I’m dressing, or showering or in the bath.
My boys’ eyes catch it from time to time and I wonder what they’re thinking. Then I wonder should I be covering up? Will it damage them to see my post surgery body? What ideas is it giving them? Is it a constant reminder of Mummy’s cancer that I should keep under wraps? My Dave is lovely, everyone knows that, but I don’t know how I feel about him seeing it either. It’s not a thing of beauty, it’s not cute and it’s definitely not sexy.
I almost ended that paragraph with but it’s mine said in a positive way, but I’m not positive about it. I don’t like it. I also don’t like the fact Rosie Huntington-Whiteley is putting on a come to bed pout and gently tugging her pretty pink underwired lacy number. I don’t like the fact that thousands of women can wear lovely, sexy bras that I can’t because I’m not allowed underwires. I don’t like that Marks and Spencer are doing this campaign but not improving their range for women like me.
I’m not going to knock the M&S for fundraising because without fundraising I might not be alive now. But I would urge them and others to think more carefully about their language, their tact and their representations of breast cancer – because with a mutilated body and a crew cut it’s pretty damn hard to feel sexy.
Find me here:
https://www.facebook.com/felicity.gibson1
https://instagram.com/baldybitesback/
https://twitter.com/Baldybitesback
Move a mile however you can - run, swim, cycle or even use a rowing machine. Film a short clip of yourself, and when you’re done nominate 3 friends to do the same by sharing your video and texting MILE to 70200 to donate £3 to Cancer Research UK’s Race for Life. #thisgirlcan
Below - keeping the misery theme going with Radiohead - ;0)
Have you heard about Marks and Spencer’s #showyourstrap campaign? I didn’t until I read this article.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/women/womens-life/11911750/MandS-criticised-by-breast-cancer-survivors-over-ShowYourStrap-bra-push.html
It caused a bit of a stir on Twitter and a flurry of people complaining that the campaign glamourised and belittled breast cancer. In response to it the #showyourscar hashtag was developed, and what a hashtag it’s proved to be! Women (and a few men) from all walks of life have come out fighting and posted photos of their breast cancer surgery scars. There have been features in newspapers, interviews on TV and a universal fist pump socking it to those models and celebs who are coyly or brazenly or seductively taking a selfie with their pretty little bra strap in perfectly lit view. And all for the sake of a three quid donation to Breast Cancer Now. Good on ‘em.
So what really is the issue with this? The nub of it – possibly – is that it’s breast cancer we’re talking about. There’s a pink, fluffy quality to breast cancer that has been created by our society. I wonder if it’s because breasts – being the sexual objects they are – are considered to be under the ownership of society rather than the individuals attached to them? That in our society we have such a specific view of what a breast should be and what it should be used for that marrying those uses with a deadly illness is, actually, terrifying.
I saw one of those put this on your status for an hour things on Facebook some years ago, it was for another charity, I can’t remember which one. Here’s a little quote from it
‘…this disease isn’t pink or sexy and it doesn’t involve boobies…’
I was enraged at the time even though I had no idea my own life would take a journey through that pink, sexy, boobie filled land that was breast cancer. I was enraged for all the people who had suffered and who’s suffering was being belittled and negated. The words never left me. Then, when the bloody thing popped up on my Facebook timeline soon after my own diagnosis, I sobbed.
At that point I hadn’t had my surgery. Crikey, for that sentence I almost wrote at that point I still had my traitorous boob, which I realised immediately is also indicative of the problem. It’s like anthropomorphism but for breasts. Breasthropomorphism. Is that too long for a hashtag?!
We give breasts human characteristics. We might describe them as perky or jolly or bad boys or the girls. Mine (pre-mastectomy) were once described as ‘friendly’. Not so friendly now, more angry.
The day of my surgery was long, convoluted and difficult. The three and a half hour operation to remove my left breast and nipple and then perform a reconstruction using an implant was – thankfully – successful. Before the op I’d worried about how I would feel when I looked at my breast again. I almost took a photo of it beforehand but was worried it would end up on the family photostream!
At the hospital in the evening when my family had gone home, the ward was mostly quiet and the nurse wasn’t looking I hauled myself out of bed and dragged my aching body and drip stand to the nearest bathroom. I did a wee, gathered myself and faced the full length mirror. Then I lifted up my nightie and looked. Writing this now is making me tearful. This is one of the many places I haven’t allowed myself to go back to yet. Thank you for sticking with me.
So I lifted up my nightie and looked. And it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. Where my nipple should have been were three inches of bloodied stitches. My skin was bruised and stretched and still had the black marker pen lines, dots and crosses my surgeon had drawn on before the op. It wasn’t as horrific as it could’ve been. Nowadays this is my party line; it wasn’t as horrific as it could’ve been.
Longer term the scar has shrunk but the implant is now beginning to show signs of reaction to the radiotherapy, in time it’ll look like a raisin and it’ll have to be done again. I’m thinking of going for a more natural reconstruction next time but that’s by the by. When I’m wearing a top you can’t notice any difference unless you scrutinise really carefully and spot that my left breast lies about an inch higher than my right. When I’m naked the lack of nipple is glaringly obvious and while I’ve tried to be totally open with my husband and boys about how it looks and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of or worried about, I can’t help feeling conspicuous if I’m dressing, or showering or in the bath.
My boys’ eyes catch it from time to time and I wonder what they’re thinking. Then I wonder should I be covering up? Will it damage them to see my post surgery body? What ideas is it giving them? Is it a constant reminder of Mummy’s cancer that I should keep under wraps? My Dave is lovely, everyone knows that, but I don’t know how I feel about him seeing it either. It’s not a thing of beauty, it’s not cute and it’s definitely not sexy.
I almost ended that paragraph with but it’s mine said in a positive way, but I’m not positive about it. I don’t like it. I also don’t like the fact Rosie Huntington-Whiteley is putting on a come to bed pout and gently tugging her pretty pink underwired lacy number. I don’t like the fact that thousands of women can wear lovely, sexy bras that I can’t because I’m not allowed underwires. I don’t like that Marks and Spencer are doing this campaign but not improving their range for women like me.
I’m not going to knock the M&S for fundraising because without fundraising I might not be alive now. But I would urge them and others to think more carefully about their language, their tact and their representations of breast cancer – because with a mutilated body and a crew cut it’s pretty damn hard to feel sexy.
Find me here:
https://www.facebook.com/felicity.gibson1
https://instagram.com/baldybitesback/
https://twitter.com/Baldybitesback
Move a mile however you can - run, swim, cycle or even use a rowing machine. Film a short clip of yourself, and when you’re done nominate 3 friends to do the same by sharing your video and texting MILE to 70200 to donate £3 to Cancer Research UK’s Race for Life. #thisgirlcan
Below - keeping the misery theme going with Radiohead - ;0)