Photo credit: www.vogue.com
A Journey of Reflection Through Art After Surgery
Three months after my session at the hotel sculpture studio and just weeks post-mastectomy, a package arrives at my doorstep. Initially, I don’t pay it much mind, assuming it’s merely more fall apparel for my children.
When my kids return from school, their excitement leads them to urge me to open the package. Once I take a closer look, I identify it as the sculpture I had previously mentioned to them. My daughter, buzzing with energy, suggests we film an unboxing video. With her and her sibling bouncing around, I start the reveal. “Is that really your body?!” my daughter exclaims, curiosity bubbling over. She quickly follows up with questions like, “Is that before or after your surgery?” and “It’s a good way to remember!”—her breaths coming in rapid succession.
I place the bronze representation of myself on the living room mantel, nestled between photographs from my wedding, images of my pregnancy, and a colorful preschool art creation. I share pictures of the sculpture with close friends who supported me throughout this journey. Their responses are thoughtful: “Rodin-esque,” comments one, while another describes it as “very powerful.”
The bust takes on distinct appearances depending on the angle from which it is viewed. From the front, it embodies a fierce strength with my once DD-cup breasts prominently featured; a side view evokes Degas’ renowned Little Dancer; and from other angles, the sculpture reveals the pleasing athletic curve of my glutes, a feature I am grateful to still possess. As I take a few days to digest the reality of this physical representation of my pre-surgery self, I find myself contemplating my feelings about the transformation.
Though the surgery has necessitated a slower pace, my recovery has been filled with mundane yet necessary tasks. I’ve been focused on the day-to-day aspects of healing: measuring output from the drains attached to my body, adhering to a strict antibiotics schedule, navigating painful showers with limited mobility, reaching out to nurses about discomfort, and trying to be present for my kids. Deep self-reflection has taken a backseat during this time.
However, as I finally sit and allow myself to reflect on the last few weeks, I realize that I have no regrets about undergoing this surgery. The statue does not embarrass me, even when my daughter excitedly announces to her brother’s physical therapist, “That’s my mom’s body on the mantel!” I appreciate how this sculpture serves to differentiate my experience from that of my mother, grandmother, and great aunt while standing as a testament to art, resilience, and strength.
I feel a sense of gratitude knowing that this meaningful keepsake may one day be passed on to my daughter. I ponder what she will see in this representation of me in the future, and how her perceptions might be shaped by advancements in our understanding of genetics and the possibilities of reducing breast cancer risk.
As for me, I take pride in knowing that this bust represents a woman who made a significant, courageous choice. I can admire her beauty and determination while embracing the strong new version of myself—complete with stitches, scabs, and limited arm movement.
Ultimately, I’m not focused on what I still cannot do. I possess the confidence that I will regain my abilities, or perhaps discover new ones. The true essence of who I am continues to evolve and dance onward.
Source
www.vogue.com