One of the things I love about Grace is her lack of personal space. I can get up in her face and cover her with kisses, and it doesn’t bother her. When she was a year old, we would do the “baby mind meld”, and she would press her forehead to mine. The child has not yet developed a need for personal space, and I love it.
Like Grace, I find that New Yorkers have less personal space than the average American. Once, while I was living in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, I got on the subway only to notice I was standing next to a man with no pants. Everyone else was at the other end of the car. Unblinking, I joined the rest of the passengers at the opposite end of the packed car. In New York, space is limited, and is always being infringed upon. While I value my personal space, I don’t think I’m overly sensitive to it, having lived in New York. I like getting up in my daughter’s face after all, and I’ve always been free to give big bear hugs. That is, until now.
I never realized how much my breasts factored into personal space. Now that I don’t have them, I find myself hunching my shoulders more than I used to, wearing scarves around my chest, and crossing my arms a lot. Some of that is insecurity, some of it is a basic need for body heat – those mammaries kept me warm! But most of all, I find that my personal space has shrunk. I’m no longer a fan of the bear hug – the looser the embrace, the happier I am. I’ve lost my physical boundary, and have yet to find my new comfort zone.
Looking back, I realize that my personal space began to deteriorate as soon as I was diagnosed. While many people ask how you are, or how you’re feeling, what they really want to do is tell you how your cancer makes them feel. Because knowing how others feel about your cancer is what’s keeping you up at night. It’s understandable… not knowing how to react, or what to say, people will say whatever comes to mind – a sort of verbal diarrhea. But like the man on the subway, the act of oversharing can chip away at your personal space.
I’m friends with an older woman, who is what I would call a Unique Individual. She’s an artist, at times highly entertaining, and oftentimes quirky. We were discussing my double mastectomy, when she asked me if I was sure I wanted to get new breasts. “They get so saggy when you’re older” she told me. Now, I began developing when I was in 4th grade, and have always been well endowed. I know saggy, and said as much. “Besides,” I said, “they will be insured for life – I can always get a replacement set!” My friend went on to tell me what her breasts meant to her, and offered to send me a photo of hers, so I could fully understand what they look like later in life. With a good dose of my usual sarcasm, I replied “You’d do that for me?”
Low and behold – she would do that for me, because the next morning her husband emailed me a naked photo of his wife. I let out a yelp, and promptly deleted the message, but not before the image was seared on my memory. I couldn’t help but wonder what had possessed my friend to share so openly with me, and after a few weeks of awkwardly avoiding her calls, I finally asked her as much. She thought that sharing her perspective would help me, and had taken my response of “You’d do that for me?” as a green light. Even though we had shared each of our perspectives on cancer and breasts throughout the conversation, my friend thought that my seeing her naked would help me to further clarify how I felt. About my breasts.
As I reflect on the past six months, I can laugh at situations like this. Now that I’m not 100% focused on my physical health, I have the opportunity to examine things that have happened, and think about how I feel about my cancer experience. That’s a good and bad thing, and can be overwhelming. I do know that my personal space has changed, and that somehow, I’ve changed as well.
6 thoughts on “The Incredibly Shrinking Personal Space”
I always welcome how blatantly honest and forthright about your personal battle with cancer. I love the pictures that you post of Grace and the family. We will continue with our thoughts and prayers to insure that all is well–I have heard that the minimum time to be considered totally cured of cancer is 5 years. My mother battled it for six years before she gave up the fight, it had spread into her bones. But that is not the point, the point is all in the ATTITUDE and you gave it hell!
Trisha, You never cease to amaze me. Your candidness in sharing your experiences, thoughts, fears, feelings, along with your direct, excellent writing skills, brings all of us into your world with clarity and heightened awareness of our intimate (and eternal) human connection. Thank you! And Bless you always.
Great love to you, Lee and Gracie.
Cuz Adrienne
No one knows your battle like you and i want to grow up and be like Grace!
Do you want a picture if some kickass implants? Haha
Love the blogs, in a weird way your cancer has brought out this amazing writer I never knew and I now plan to read and devour everything she writes! She being you! Thank You for sharing, it makes me smile!
What a wonderful piece of writing. What a refreshingly honest sentiment. I, too, have had the experience of trying to fend off the public dimensions of an intensely private medical matter. I’m with you, babe.
I always welcome how blatantly honest and forthright about your personal battle with cancer. I love the pictures that you post of Grace and the family. We will continue with our thoughts and prayers to insure that all is well–I have heard that the minimum time to be considered totally cured of cancer is 5 years. My mother battled it for six years before she gave up the fight, it had spread into her bones. But that is not the point, the point is all in the ATTITUDE and you gave it hell!
Trisha, You never cease to amaze me. Your candidness in sharing your experiences, thoughts, fears, feelings, along with your direct, excellent writing skills, brings all of us into your world with clarity and heightened awareness of our intimate (and eternal) human connection. Thank you! And Bless you always.
Great love to you, Lee and Gracie.
Cuz Adrienne
No one knows your battle like you and i want to grow up and be like Grace!
Do you want a picture if some kickass implants? Haha
Love the blogs, in a weird way your cancer has brought out this amazing writer I never knew and I now plan to read and devour everything she writes! She being you! Thank You for sharing, it makes me smile!
What a wonderful piece of writing. What a refreshingly honest sentiment. I, too, have had the experience of trying to fend off the public dimensions of an intensely private medical matter. I’m with you, babe.
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