How to Say Goodbye to Boobs

1) Throw them a party

My boob voyage, or as A, my dear friend and budding party-planner/pop artist who hosted the event for me, called it, The Pointer Sisters Farewell Tour (The Pointer Sisters being the pet name my husband gave my boobs), took place Sunday night. It was a blast; I felt so lucky to have my friends come together to support me. We ate, drank, and played games, including "Pin the pasty on the nip" (pictured above). I received several sets of button down pajamas (fashion be damned) and lots of good wishes. And I got a chance to remind everyone that after all of this, I'm going to be the same person I always was; after all, I'm having my breasts removed, not my sense of humor. The pasty-adorned breast is now hanging in my living room.

2) Photograph them

Last night, I spent a few hours (most of them topless) in the studio with a very talented photographer, whom I met when she shot my wedding. R is a genius behind the lens, and I've never looked better than in the photographs she took of me on my wedding day (though, maybe the professional makeup and designer gown helped). So when I decided to memorialize my mammaries before the old chop chop, I reached out to her, unsure of whether she'd be offended by my request (I can't tell you how many times I wrote and rewrote the email in order to ask, essentially, "So, do you do topless?") or the entire prospect of surgery. But, astonishingly, R not only agreed to do it, she shared with me the story of her grandmother; she developed breast cancer in her 40s nearly fifty years ago and instead of following the recommended course of action -- a lumpectomy -- opted instead to remove her entire breast. R's grandmother will be 90 soon, and she thinks her radical choice saved her life. (That's one brave woman.) So R really got it.

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have a major affection (OK... call it like it is: an obsession) with America's Next Top Model. I routinely have dreams I'm a contestant on the show (which usually involve me expressing some level of incredulity to Tyra about the fact that I'm a) 31 and b) a little too zaftig). But let me tell you, all those hours of mindless entertainment actually came in very handy during my photo shoot. I used all of Tyra's tricks. Smile with my eyes? Just call me Super Smize. Booty tooch? Check. Modeling head to toe? Girl, you know. And after about 30 seconds, it didn't really even register I wasn't wearing a shirt. When R was setting up a shot, she said, "Give me a second, I'm focusing on your eyes." And I said, "Actually, this is the one time where it's OK for you to focusing down here, you know?" Throughout, R was a consummate profession, a skilled director who helped me contort my body into more flattering poses (and positioned lights in order to slim and sculpt), and a reassuring presence who told me over and over again that I was beautiful.

I can't wait to see the pictures. And no, I will NOT be posting them here. These are for me. To remember how I was once. To celebrate the good times. To look forward to the better times ahead.

3) Preserve them in plaster

I ordered a belly-casting kit (you know, the papier-maiche kits that are all the rage at baby showers) but will be using it for a different purpose: I'm going to make a cast of my bust. Not sure what I'll do with it (though perhaps it will go nicely with my pop-art living room boob painting), but I want to cover all my bases (second bases?). I figure this would be a fun/messy activity for G to help me with. After all, he needs to say goodbye to them, too.

4) Write them an ode

Well, this blog has been, in many ways, a love/hate letter to my breasts, but I'm working on one final tribute. Stay tuned for more...