Boobs Boobs Boobs (A Book Review: Part I)

One of the greatest accomplishments of the breast cancer movement (besides, you know, the gazillions of dollars that have been raised for research, the groundbreaking treatments that have emerged, and the tens of thousands of lives that are being saved as a result) is that people are no longer embarrassed to talk about boobs.

I have participated in many breast cancer race events in New York City, and I remember the last time seeing a group of women walking the race course wearing hats in the shape of bared breasts - yes, naked boobs, nipples and all. How great is that?

Part of me is envious of this movement, I have to say. Only because colon cancer is my own personal cause, to which I owe my life's greatest heartbreak, and I want people talking about butts the way they talk about breasts. I think this is happening, slowly but (I hope) surely. The Colon Cancer Alliance is starting a race event called the Undy 5000, in which participants are encouraged to run/walk in their underwear. I think this is pretty genius and I hope the event will go far in getting people comfortable talking about butts and cancer. The less fear we have in addressing these topics, the more empowered we become.

But back to boobs.

Bathsheba's Breast, by James S. Olson, was the second book in my cancer curriculum. Compared to One in Three, this read was a little harsh. If Adam Wishart had been holding my hand as I tiptoed into the acquisition of some solid knowledge about this disease, then Olson threw me into an ice bath. That's not to say I did not enjoy the book - in fact I learned a great deal from it - but it was a toughie.

Reading this book, especially as a woman, felt at times like having a male doctor with little bedside manner. Olson talks about horrible breast tumors and surgeries as if discussing a baseball game. It's gruesome stuff and he makes no apologies for that. That being said, it also gives what I have to trust is a realistic account of the toll this disease took on women hundreds (and, indeed, thousands) of years ago, which is key to truly grasping how far we have come in treating cancer. I just had to read the book in smallish doses because of its graphic nature. But ultimately, Olson sets an example for the rest of us to not be afraid to talk about cancer.

In fact, the book begins with a discussion of his own cancer - a sarcoma in his arm that recurred while researching and writing Bathsheba's Breast. Olson lost his left arm to cancer, and says, "Although I know nothing of what it is like to lose a breast, I do understand... the anxiety of confronting one's own mortality, and the trauma of saying goodbye to a body part."

Heavy stuff. And in the interest of small doses, I will continue the review tomorrow...