Beauty is More Than Breast Deep

Teagan Chandler

Emptiness.

“Ms. Schwartz?” A gentle voice asked, pulling Nan from her thoughts. “Ms. Schwartz, did you hear me?” Numbly, Nan nodded, heart slowly moving up her throat as she struggled to breathe in.

“You said–” she stopped, voice trembling. She cleared her throat. “You said I have breast cancer, and I–”

“And you need a double mastectomy.” The doctor prompted, eyes filled with concern as she leaned across the desk, angling herself closer to Nan. “We can try chemo, of course, but with the aggressive nature of this cancer, to avoid further pain, I’d recommend immediate surgery.”

Further pain? Nan questioned, her thoughts frantic as her eyes scanned the informative pamphlet being pushed across the table to her. How is complicated surgery to remove my breasts a way for me to avoid ‘further pain’?

Taking her silence as an answer, the doctor smiled warmly and patted Nan’s hand, which she had forgotten lay motionless on the desk. “You can take a few days to decide. When you’re ready, give me a call.”

“But please,” she continued, leading Nan to the door, “decide quickly. The sooner we get in there the better.” Her smile, while intending to be kind, suddenly seemed saccharine, utterly artificial and cloyingly sweet. Nan pasted an equally fake smile on her face, and headed out of the door. As she walked down the hall, she hugged herself, wrapping her arms around her chest and squeezing herself tightly. The familiar swell of her breasts greeted her, comfortably firm under her forearm. Her throat tightened, a tell tale sign she was about to cry. Refusing to cry in her oncologist's office, she rushed to her car, silent tears falling as she ran, hand clamped over her mouth. She closed her car door with a slam, and sat, panting, her heart beating loudly in her chest, face growing redder and redder as she began to let herself go. Within seconds, her car was filled with the sounds of her loud, howling, uncontrollable sobs.

***

“It’s been over a week! What more is there to think about Nan? You have to do this! Don’t you want to live?” Her mother demanded, pacing in front of Nan, who was slouched back into the familiar red couch at her parents’ house. “Where is the phone? I’ll call her right now. Sometime next week would be perfect. I could drive you there and pick you up after. I–”

“Mom, stop!” Nan leaned forward with a grunt, her head in her hands. She took a breath, rolling her shoulders back. “I can’t have this conversation again. This isn’t about you. This is my choice. Mine.” She pointed emphatically at herself, hands shaking with tension.

Her mom’s chin trembled, face crumpling. “I know sweetie, I’m just trying to take care of you. Please–” her voice broke, as she stifled a sob. “Please. You’re my daughter. Let me take care of you.” The pure devastation in her voice made Nan pause. She sighed. The look of momentary hope on her mom’s face broke her heart. 

I can’t do this to her again. She crossed her arms across her chest, a motion now familiar to her.

“Fine,” she said, swallowing heavily, fighting back now familiar tears. “I’ll do it.” A sinking feeling entered her chest, weighing her down as her mom hugged her tightly. 

Emptiness.

***

Nan woke up to a steady beeping sound. Hearing snoring, she turned her head, groaning slightly. Her mother was asleep in a chair by her head, opposite the row of machines, her arms crossed across her chest. Gingerly, Nan moved her non IV-bearing arm to her chest. Her gentle fingers brushed against the neck of her hospital gown. She pulled it up slightly, revealing thick, tightly wrapped bandages. Shaking slightly, she dropped the gown, her fingers lightly tracing her chest. 

Emptiness.

They were met with an unfamiliar flatness that caused Nan’s breath to hitch. With a start her mother woke up, ending Nan’s private moment. “Oh my, you’re awake! I’ll go get the nurse!” Before Nan could protest, her mother had jumped up, ran across the room, and burst through the door. A single tear rolled down Nan’s cheek as she stared forlornly at her bandage-wrapped, hospital gown-clad chest. 

Emptiness.

***

“Come on Nan, it’ll be fun.” Her best friend Anastasia pleaded, rolling across Nan’s bed. As she neared, Nan tucked the pillow closer to her body, relishing in its cover. “I can’t,” she answered simply, “I’m not supposed to be outside too long while my stitches heal.”

“It’s been a month! They’ve healed! Please come! It’s the first nice day of the summer, we have to go out and enjoy it.” But Anastasia’s pleas were lost on deaf ears. Nan’s arms tightened in silent protest as she pressed the pillow against her chest. 

Emptiness.

“I can’t go outside Stas, leave it alone.” Anastasia opened her mouth to respond, but, upon seeing the look on Nan’s face, backed off. “Okay,” she held her hands up in defeat, “we’ll just stay in.”

***

“Nan! Let’s go!” Her mother called, fluffing her hair in the entryway mirror. Nan jammed her sneakers on, making sure to keep her gaze aimed at the floor as she walked down the hall. 

Emptiness.

She stepped outside, the bright sun making her wince. She wrapped the cardigan tightly around her, her arms covering her flat chest. Her mom beckoned to her, a bright smile on her face as Nan walked towards the car. “We’ll have a girl’s night! We’ll drink margaritas, have some tacos, it’ll be great!” She chirped as Nan slid into the passenger’s seat. Nan glanced over at her mom, whose smile faltered, and gave her a flat grin. “Yeah, it’ll be great.” Her mom sighed, tipped her head back, and swore silently under her breath. “Okay, scratch dinner. I have an idea.” She canceled the GPS’ directions to the restaurant and entered a new address. Confirming the drive, she pulled out of the driveway. After driving in awkward silence for a few minutes, Nan’s mother flipped on the jazz station. She hummed along, tapping the steering wheel as she swayed to the beat. Nan closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cool window as she let the sun warm her face. 

“Nan,” her mother whispered, shaking her shoulder. “Get up, we’re here.” Blinking the tiredness out of her eyes, Nan unbuckled her seatbelt and hesitantly opened the door. Her mom had parked at a strip mall, full of cheesy-looking pizzarias, pawn shops, and liquor stores. She turned to her mom, eyebrows raised in question. Her mom smiled slightly, and pulled her forward.

***

Nan dragged her feet, eyes trained stubbornly to the ground as her mom bounced into the tattoo parlor. “Hello!” She chirped, walking up the reception desk. “My daughter would like to get a tattoo.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” Nan grumbled, arms bundled around herself protectively, “and besides, you don’t even like tattoos.” 

Emptiness.

Her mom waved her off, eyes trained on the buff receptionist with a neck tattoo and nose piercings. “Why don’t you just talk to an artist? Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

The receptionist led them to a private room at the end of a long hallway. Nan ducked inside, taking a seat on the appointment chair. “I’ll be in in one second hon,” her mom called after her. She lingered outside, mumbling something to the receptionist, who nodded solemnly, and disappeared back down the hallway. 

***

After a few minutes, a slim, dark-haired woman who Nan assumed to be the tattoo artist, based on the tattoos on her thin arms, walked into the room. “Hi Nan,” Her cheery voice said, “I’m Victoria, and I hear you’re in the market for a tattoo today.” Upon seeing Nan’s stony expression, her resolute silence, she smiled warmly at Nan’s mom. “Ma’am,” she began, “if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I think we could do with some privacy.”

Ha! Nan laughed bitterly, Good luck getting Mom to leave. 

To her surprise, her mom nodded amicably and left the room. Victoria grabbed her mother’s once-inhabited chair, and pulled it over to Nan. “So you had breast cancer.” Nan flinched at the blunt words, her face blushing furiously. “No, no, no,” Victoria exclaimed, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She began pulling at the buttons of her shirt. Nan flinched, covering her own chest.

Emptiness.

“I had breast cancer too,” she said as she hastily undid the buttons. Nan relaxed, arms sliding to her side once more. “I got a double mastectomy. And I felt like a piece of me was missing after that. I shut myself in for months. I didn’t want to go anywhere and see these whole, happy, feminine women walking around, enjoying their lives.” She laughed bitterly, reaching the last button. 

“I had nearly given up on ever feeling beautiful, or even whole again, but I joined a support group on Facebook. And I saw a woman, a tattoo artist, who had gotten a chest tattoo after her incisions healed. A lotus, to symbolize rebirth.” She pulled her shirt open, revealing a beautifully shaded peacock. Its body was a brilliant blue, seeming to shimmer on her skin. The feathers were light and detailed, and appeared so real Nan wanted to reach out and touch them. Their iridescence spread across Victoria’s chest, covering her scars entirely.

“I wanted to feel beautiful in my body again. I wanted to be able to walk proudly, strutting, if you will, like a peacock. So my friend gave me this tattoo. And it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.” She smiled shyly, buttoning her shirt back up. “And, if you give me the chance, I’d love to give you one too.” Tears welling up in her eyes, Nan nodded, her mind instantly made up. “I’d really like that.”

***

Two weeks later, Nan walked out of ‘Pins and Needles’, the name of the tattoo shop. After five painful sessions with Victoria, her tattoo was complete. Her mother sat in the car, waiting in the parking lot. “How does it look?” She asked eagerly, clapping her hands together. Nan shook her head. “I haven’t seen it yet.” 

“What? Why not?” Her mother asked. “How can you not have seen it?”

“I didn’t want to,” Nan replied simply, “Not until it was ready.” Her mother threw up her hands in exasperation, but Nan could see a bright smile cross her face. They drove home, listening to familiar jazz. They hummed along, spirits high as they danced in their seats. As soon as they got home, Nan ran up to her childhood room. “Don’t you want to see it together?” Her mom called. She was answered with the slamming of Nan’s door.

Nan leaned against her door, breathing heavily. Her heart pounded and blood roared as she slowly unbuttoned her red and black checkered flannel. It’s okay. It’s not empty anymore. She thought to herself as she stood with her back to the mirror. Just turn around. Arms clenched by her side, eyes squeezed shut, she inched around. Slowly, she cracked open one eye, then the other, and a sob broke out of her throat.

Victoria had drawn a beautiful tree. Its roots were strong and defined, curving around her scars. The leaves were shades of blue and green, bright and vibrant against Nan’s pale skin. Their carefully drawn lines gave them the appearance of being in motion, waving in an invisible wind. The trunk was supple, yet strong.

Nan pulled open the letter Victoria had written to her.

The Tree of Life, Victoria had written in delicate cursive, To show that your life is strongly rooted. It’ll go on, growing and changing, just as you will. 

Sinking to her knees, Nan cried out in relief, eyes trained stalwartly on her reflection. 

Whole.

Edited by Leyla Akselioglu and Kate Castello