Bare-breasted Mama

One morning a few weeks after surgery, I waved my children off to school and thought I should either revise my novel or send out some queries or start a…

Moans swell between Mike’s erratic snores and the flash of the red digital bars reconfiguring time . . . How many times had I already been up? At her bassinet…

I wake to the sound of my raspy-voiced neighbor flirting with the post-op nurse, “Make mine a double, darlin’.” “A double what?” the nurse says and giggles and flips her…

With my breast smashed on a tray like a slab of meat, soon to be anesthetized and sliced open, excised and cauterized, sent to pathology, I wonder, why hadn’t I…

“I’m thinking of getting rid of the time bombs,” I say and cup my breasts. “Then we’ll throw a Goodbye Breasts party,” my friend says, wiping a clump of mascara…

I was watching Oprah, waiting for the results from my core biopsy and the final From Frumpy to Fabulous unveiling of the housewife from Kalamazoo when cancer barged into my…

Chest down on a padded table, head cocked sideways, right breast hanging through a peekaboo hole, one arm hooked around my matted hair, other arm twisted pinky side out at…

I’m picturing Carrie on Sex and the City cross-legged on her bed in sexy boy-cut undies and a cleavage-revealing push-up bra, her hair professionally disheveled, seductively sucking on a melting…