Sometimes you meet a person at work whom you just know, from that first moment, will tell you — when nobody else will — that you have schmootz on your blouse or you sat in mustard. I am lucky that there are a few of us like that in our office.
But one colleague, in particular, takes you into her office and shows you all the supplies she keeps for “women’s issues” — from Motrin to safety pins to tampons. And when she shows you, that means you can just take what you need, whenever you need it.
And this colleague often ambles into my office to one-up me, playfully, in our never-ending contest for whose family has the most bizarre stories. (She is winning by a landslide — the blog she could write. . . .)
Today I asked my friend and colleague, via email exchange:
“How are you feeling? Are you up for visitors? What was the extra procedure? What can I do to help?”
“Blog about me. You know I love the media spotlight. My acronym should be COBWARB (colleague of blogger with almost rocker body)”
“My pleasure, COBWARB.”
Why? Because COBWARB is recovering from a bilateral mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.
In the weeks preceding the procedures, we talked about what was going to happen and the mechanics of reconstruction. The negatives are obvious; on the plus side, COBWARB was going to have her entire tummy suctioned into new, well-sized breasts.
“I am going to have smaller breasts because who needs to be so big if they cause back pain and I am going to have your flat stomach without working so hard on the Rings!”
Okokokokokok. I didn’t have three children like COBWARB did. So, I should have a flat stomach (but I don’t really). And, I would gladly work out every day and eat quinoa and kale (G-d help me) not to make the choices and options forced on COBWARB.
But, hey, a rock star body? Flat stomach and perfectly shaped breasts? Go, girl.
Still, you were beautiful as you were, and I fear, my friend, that the rock star body cannot replace what this episode has cost you, in mind, body and spirit.
Speedy recovery, COBWARB.
