A Rude Sales Clerk Saved My Life

Yes, a rude salesperson at a Marshall's store unwittingly helped save my life.

For the four years following my mastectomies, one of my greatest challenges involved shopping for bathing suits. Let's face it, no woman really enjoys this affair. For, we are at our most exposed point, most vulnerable in terms of our self-image, when staring at ourselves under the harsh fluorescent lighting in bare fitting room cells. What I saw reflected back to me in that mirror reminded me of my cancer, and made me feel more than physically reduced.

Over the years after the removal of my cancer (and my breasts) I had the pleasure of numerous strange and unsuccessful trips to department stores, attempting to find a bathing suit that "worked" for my "two-dimensional" post-mastectomy body. My beloved mom and daughter normally accompanied me on these annual, dreaded trips to the bathing suit sections of various retail establishments. We would start in the juniors department, and inevitably end up in the little girls area, searching for a suit that would fit my flat chest. You see, my concave chest gave new meaning to the term "pear shaped body", with normal adult-woman hips and an abnormal "blank" chest. At 5'2 and 105 lbs., I was lucky. The girls size 16 suits I often ended up with assumed the wearer had a pre-pubescent body, but also reflected the color and fabric choices enjoyed by little girls. (Picture multi-colored hearts and cheesy plastic trims).

These trips would begin with a deep inhale of resolve before entering the store, and exchanged "here we go" glances between the three generations of women. We would take armfuls of bathing suits into the fitting room, where I would put on a pathetic (sometimes comically theatrical) fashion show to my hopeful loving audience. Other fitting room comrades would lend quick sideways glances; their expressions, though fleeting, would ask more than they would reveal. Often, the absurdity of these sessions would evoke a range of emotions, exploding into laughter or ending with me fighting back tears.

I had tried prosthetic bathing suits. Companies like Lands End do offer women some suits that accommodate a breast prosthetic. (Thank you Lands End!) Unfortunately, most of these have an "older" or "larger" woman in mind. I'd rather the bows and hearts than the matronly cruisewear-style swimsuit. Also, the prosthetics have a tendency to "escape" from the suit at exactly the wrong time. (Picture my coyly chasing my bobbing fake boob floating in a public pool.) Additionally, the shifting wet prosthetic, coupled with the wet suit rubbed horribly against my scarred chest. The chafing was, well, certainly not worth the contour.

Well, in the summer of year four I had finally, I thought, found a woman's bathing suit that would work! Of course, this suit had been settled on after another emotional outing. When I got it home, and modeled it for my equally hopeful husband, we both realized that the "empty" spots on the top just would not do. I also realized that, with no breast contour to hold the suit in place, it rose up my chest every time I lifted my arms up. Hmm. Too bad...I liked it.

Two weeks later the three girls (me, my mom, and my young daughter) returned to the Marshall's store from where I purchased that suit. The plan was to exchange it, but there were no other viable choices. There was a long line at the return desk. This is where the rude clerk saved my life! I had removed the tag from the garment, and she absolutely refused to take it back. I quietly explained the circumstances, still no effect. Well, this was a watershed moment for me, I guess. Four years of suppressed emotion came pouring out. I burst into tears, left the store (followed by my consoling child), and realized at that moment how very much (despite my convincing myself otherwise) I really missed my breasts.

You see, my life had been saved by a year of cancer treatments. But, my "life", had been sorely affected. The scars ripping across my chest healed, but had left much deeper emotional ones.

Two other things happened within weeks of that incident that set me on the path to my reconstruction and "resurrection." I will explain more in my next post.