But what shocked me the most were the attitudes of other people. My aunt, mom’s own sister, was distraught over mom’s mastectomy. She acted like the death knell was loudly tolling and she was the only one who could see the tall figure in black, holding a scythe over mom’s shoulder and pointing a long boney finger toward the River Styx. She said mom was only pretending to be okay about her cancer and that it was a sure sign of a mental problem. (I love my aunt, but I was ready to give her the smack down.)
Other people, mom’s friends, came to visit and sat on her couch like they were at a wake! They gingerly avoided talking about the cancer or the absent breast, instead choosing to talk about the seasonably hot weather and the Channel 7 news lady who had another face lift. I just wanted to shout MY MOTHER HAD HER BOOB CUT OFF! SHE DIDN’T HAVE HER SENSE OF HUMOR SLICED AWAY! STOP TALKING TO HER LIKE SHE’S HAD A PERSONALITY TRANSPLANT!
Mom was the same crazy, zany, nutty, funny, smiling, laughing, joking, goofball woman on the day of her surgery as she was the day before and the day after her surgery. She told people, “I had a boob cut off 18 years ago, a boob cut off last week, and I still have one left!” (She was, of course, referring to her divorce 18 years ago from my father. I’m not offended by that and you shouldn’t be either because my dad is kind of a boob. If you knew him you’d agree.) Most people didn’t get the joke, and when she explained it to them, they were horrified! They looked at me as if to ask, “Is she still on pain medication?! The poor dear. When will the effects wear off?”
Read part two.
