Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy by Geralyn Lucas Read Free Book Online Page A

to the office one more time the Sunday after my diagnosis because I needed to clean up my desk and get my work in order. I was the first person to hold the position of assistant story editor, so no one was really sure of what I did. I find story ideas for 20/20 segments. I read local papers from all over the country and the news wires and strange publications to find interesting, untold stories. And I have found some pretty amazing ones: Amish runaways, kids who want to meet their sperm donor dads, a woman who had twenty-seven plastic surgeries to make herself look like a Barbie doll.
    I typed up my job description and made a list of all the stories I was currently working on and what was ready to be assigned to a producer. It felt so responsible of me to be doing this, but it was also a relief to take my mind off cancer cell types for a few hours, and to be back where I could actually use my brain and where no one needed to feel me up again.
    I had not seen or spoken to anyone since Meredith ran interference for me. I did not expect to see anyone in the office on a Sunday, but there he was. The big Kahuna, my boss’s boss, the executive producer, Victor, in his tennis outfit. I wanted to put my head down and pray that he wouldn’t notice me, but in a strange way I needed to tell him that he could count on me, and that just because I had cancer I was not going away.
    “Victor. Hi. I’m just getting some of my things together before I have my surgery . . .”
    I could see that I was totally freaking Victor out, and to make matters worse, I grabbed his hand! I never held my boss’s hand! What is wrong with me?
    “I’m going to be fine. I scheduled my chemo for Fridays so I can rest over the weekend and be back at work on Mondays.”
    Victor looked concerned but uncomfortable and just kept nodding. I knew that I was coming on so strong to convince us both that I would live and that he could count on me to do my job. I had been trying to impress Victor by getting the best stories for 20/20 , but now I needed to convince him that I would live. I remembered how hard I had tried to get hired, how I used to jump when I heard his booming voice on the other end of the phone, and I couldn’t believe we had just held hands. Wow, this getting-it-off-my-chest stuff was pretty powerful! That encounter with Victor showed me that I clearly couldn’t handle telling, and that Meredith was a much more graceful and thorough publicist.
    Since my diagnosis I had been looking for another young woman who had been through this. I had only heard of my mom’s friends, grandmothers. Had angels planned for Meredith to be my boss? Could this be real? This was crazy! And it was about to get even crazier.
    I was about to become completely convinced of angels—on my twenty-eighth birthday, the day before my mastectomy.
    I painstakingly pick out my outfit for my last hurrah, my premastectomy I-need-some-attention-I-need-it-so-badly strut. I’m wearing my favorite faded jeans that make my butt look awesome. And a bodysuit that is very tight and accentuates my breasts—I’m not wearing a bra . . . I never do because my breasts are small and firm enough.
    It’s ninety-five degrees and the city is deserted. Everyone must be away at the beach, but I am stuck here waiting for my surgery tomorrow. I put my hand up to hail a taxi and two start to race towards me. Maybe it’s because there are so few fares today in this scorching heat, or maybe my outfit is working? Is this why the taxis are lurching towards me? The one farther away darts in front of the other taxi and does a sharp turn towards me, nearly causing a rear-end collision. After some heavy screaming and door-slamming and fuck-yous! I reluctantly enter the winner, and it’s about to become clear exactly why he has won.
    I’m just relieved to slide into some air conditioning, because little blotches of sweat have already started to stain my bodysuit. My inadvertent wet T-shirt seems to