Real Women, Real Stories

The Journey of a Cancer de Mama Clinic Prosthetic

The journey begins when I receive an email from the owner of a lingerie store. She tells me she has several large boxes of prosthetics that she’d like to donate to our next Cancer de Mama Clinic. I’m thrilled to get this news, but it means a two-hour drive to pick up the donation. I’m more than happy to do this driving though, because I know the significant value of this donation. I know how many lives it will change.

The next morning, home again from my journey, I begin to unpack the boxes. As expected, each prosthetic is still well protected in its own individual case. But I know it can’t remain like that – much too bulky for its long journey to Mexico. So I remove each prosthetic from its safe and cushioned spot, laying it on my king size bed. By morning’s end, the bed is full and the floor is covered with empty cases.

Now I begin to layer the prosthetics into sturdy boxes. These are some of the most special moments for me as a volunteer with the Cancer de Mama Clinic. It’s almost a sacred time. I handle each prosthetic gently, respectfully. If I think it’s been used before, I wonder about the donor. Where is she now? Why was her prosthetic returned to the lingerie store? I say a quick prayer for her, wherever she is. With every prosthetic, my thoughts turn to the Mexican woman who will one day receive it. Where is she today? What has been her breast cancer story? Does she even realize yet that she has breast cancer, that she will soon lose her breast? Or was her breast removed many years ago?  Is she wondering how it will be possible for her to travel to the Clinic? My questions seem endless.

The boxes fill slowly, but I don’t rush the process. I know that once these prosthetics get unpacked at the Clinic, it will be a really busy time, so I treasure these quiet moments with them. I often cry. It’s the breast prosthetics that lie at the heart of the Clinic and I’m so grateful that I can see and touch so many of them.

Once my tears are over and the boxes filled to the brim, it’s time to get these treasures on their way. There are 150 of them this time! I had posted the need for transportation on the Cancer de Mama Clinic FaceBook page and a generous couple who will be driving to La Penita have let me know that they’d be happy to add a few extra boxes to their rig. My husband squeezes the boxes into our car between two golden retrievers and we make the four-hour drive to meet our newest friends. We watch as they fit the boxes into various nooks and crannies of their beautiful RV. I can see that they handle the boxes with the same respect that we did and it feels good – I know this precious cargo will be well cared for on its long journey to La Penita, Mexico.

A few busy months pass, Christmas is over and it’s Clinic week now. Someone has told me that my boxes arrived safely and have been unpacked. Other gentle hands have sorted the prosthetics according to size and I take a peek to see them all lined up, waiting in bins and ready for our first Clinic Day.

Many of the Mexican women have left their homes in the dark of night to travel long miles by bus to arrive at the Clinic by early morning. The excitement in the air is palpable as they line up outside, bunched together in little groups, waiting for our doors to open. Eventually registration begins. Each woman is greeted in Spanish and given a small piece of paper with her name on it. She will cling to that paper for hours as she waits her turn, wondering what this day will hold for her? Finally, her name is called and she is warmly welcomed by a smiling volunteer who will gently guide her into a fitting room. It’s in this tiny space that the magic begins …

In a way which feels similar to the sense of reverence I experienced when packing up the prosthetics in my bedroom at home – I appreciate a sense of sacredness in this space too. The floors are just basic grey cement and the walls as such, are simple pink curtains, hanging from ceiling railings to serve as dividers. Great care has been taken so that each woman can have a secure experience of privacy.

All of the women who come to this Clinic have suffered. All are brave. Sometimes after their very long wait, in the privacy of this small but safe fitting room, their smiles turn to tears and the search to find a good prosthetic is put on hold. Mujeres a mujeres, woman to woman. In this moment, comfort is far more important than efficiency.

After the woman’s measurements have been taken, a volunteer goes to the supply room where other volunteers help to find a few prosthetics for her to try. Sometimes a good fit is found immediately and at other times, several tries are needed. But slowly the magic is happening. The right prosthetic suddenly fits. It has been slipped into a new bra and has begun its transition. Before long it will become almost a part of this woman’s body. It will meld into her flesh every day. It will allow her to be proud of her shape once again. it will give her confidence. It will give her new hope that life can go on after a mastectomy.

The prosthetic that was once an expensive blob of gel, has now become priceless joy. It has found its forever home. It has found life.

 

 

 

 

 

When Jan Brewer first arrived in Canada from Scotland 45 years ago, little did she imagine that the knitting skills her mother first taught her as a child would enable her to knit Tit Bits and help women living four thousand miles away in Mexico. Tit Bits are hand-knit or crocheted breast form prostheses. They are an alternative to temporary silicone breast forms, and are both comfortable to wear in warmer climates, and affordable in places where access to healthcare and medical supplies may be limited.

Jan first became involved in knitting Tit Bits ten years ago when she was diagnosed with breast cancer. She and her friend, an ostomate, happened to be visiting their local Nightingale Medical store and learned about their role in collecting new or gently-used mastectomy products on behalf of the Cancer de Mama Clinic.  The Clinic is run by a group of volunteer Canadians and Americans who coordinate an annual  3-day clinic in La Penita, Mexico to distribute donations of Tit Bits, breast prosthetics, both mastectomy and regular bras. As a breast cancer survivor herself, Jan was dismayed by the lack of resources available to breast cancer survivors in countries such as Mexico, and felt compelled to try to help. And so began her involvement in knitting Tit Bits.

 

Beautiful Boobs

by Karen Stranaghan

They arrived in the hours before daylight; bundled, breasts concealed, heads bowed and hearts heavy.  Mexican women, all with breast cancer, and all with the hope that there might be a breast prosthetic for them.

For the previous year, women in Canada and the US have been quietly raising funds, gathering used prosthetics, prosthetic bras and regular bras that other volunteers will transform into prosthetic bras.  Scores of other women have been knitting tit bits, cotton filled breast prosthetics complete with nipple, by the hundreds.  All of these efforts have poured into the La Penita RV Park, in Nayarit, Mexico.  For the next three days, 325 women from as far away as Guadalajara, Tepic, and Puerto Vallarta will come here to be transformed.

Unfortunately, In Mexico, it is not uncommon for breast cancer survivors to be made to feel dirty; the men in their lives shun them, their families shun them and sometimes even their whole village shuns them.  Times are changing, but still two women in the same village suffering from the same cancer might not even know that the other exists.  There is no support group, there in no Cancer Society, and in many cases, there is no information and precious few resources to deal with the physical and emotional damage of breast cancer.

But these women have hope, and as the days progress, the rewards of our efforts shine through.  As each woman is fitted with her prosthetic bra and tit bit, she emerges from the filling room, coat over her arm, like a butterfly from a cocoon.  Her hands fly to her face as she views herself in the mirror.  A wide grin splits her face as she realizes how beautiful she still is, then the tears overflow.  Others shake their booty and dance through the room, out the door and into the waiting arms of loved ones.  The air is filled with “Gracias, gracias”.  There are hugs, more tears and lots of clapping and cheering from the volunteers.  “Bonita Chi Chi’s” we call out; “beautiful boobs,” as indeed they are!

There is also much heartache, and none of us remains untouched.

The most fragile women, those still undergoing chemo, are assisted by helping hands on either side.  Their transformation begins quickly as they are first fitted with a wig or hat so that they can enter the fitting rooms feeling less naked.

A volunteer moves through the crowd with a baby that can surely be only a few weeks old; held so that the mother can be given her chance in the fitting room.  We wonder aloud how much time the baby and mother will have to share.

“Interpreter needed” a voice calls out and another volunteer rushes to help with what we know must be more than just a prosthetic fitting.

A young woman has arrived fresh from her surgery, drain tubes still in, with a body too sore to even wear a bra, but she doesn’t want to miss this once yearly chance for a prosthetic.  She will leave with everything she needs to weather the next weeks of discomfort, as well as her new bra and her new breast tucked into her bag.

As a fitter struggles to get just the perfect fit with the prosthetic breast, the young Mexican woman reassures her with gestures and broken English.  “Do not worry, it is perfect.  The other breast will be taken in April.”  More tears flow.

“May I have some pretty bras”, the volunteer fitter asks me as she fights back tears.  “She is only 15.”

I dig through dozens of bras, determined to find the most feminine ones I can.  “Thank you” the fitter whispers as she takes them away.  I notice that she has regained her composure and is once again ready to brighten the small cubicle she works in.

In the early morning of the second day, before the first of the ladies arrive, a volunteer shares a note she has received, painstakingly translated into English.  It reads, “God bless the hands that gave me a beautiful life again.  Thank you”.  The tears flow, as we all understand just how important our work is.

Yet even in all this tragedy, there is cause for celebration.  A young woman hugs a volunteer she recognizes from last year and shares that she is now cancer free.  The clinic erupts with cheers and tears as the news is shared.  She has given the best gift of all, to all of us; the gift of hope for tomorrows to come.