Meaningless numbers

Today I took my 97 year old mother to the Jane Brattain Boutique to be fitted for a new prosthesis and brassieres. She is by far the oldest lady they have ever fitted and in many ways, most challenging. Many skinny old ladies who have lost a breast just stop wearing bras altogether and I can see why.

My father met her in 1959 when she was in her forties. She was a knockout and wore a 36 D bra for a long, long time. She is a 32 year breast cancer survivor and has never looked back or mourned the loss of her breast. She is happy to be alive. Some years ago she became so lopsided that her doctor sent her for a reduction on that side and she liked her smaller breast.

Four years ago she measured as a 38B. But she has lost more weight and her bras are hurting her. Today she still measured at 38, but they didn't feel good. The kind young woman finally found that worked best is a 40AA. The old lady was flummoxed; how could those be her numbers? She had never been that small or that large. As she has shrunk vertically, and as her back is bending, the rib cage is expanding. As she has lost weight, all the fat in her breast is gone leaving flat skin. The fitter put in an evener, kind of a lifter, on the good side to even her out.

Well, this is a lot of information and I will finally get to the point. It is about arbitrary numbers and what we think of those numbers and how we let them affect our thinking and lives. 40AA? She is so very skinny, and not even when she was twelve did she wear a double A bra. "But I've always been so busty" she kept repeating. And size 40 chest? The old man only had a 36" chest before he died.

I remember crying over scale numbers when I was younger. I remember cutting a label out of a pair of shorts because I couldn't imagine wearing size 18 shorts. And now, I am much heavier and wear size 14. How can that be? I know a young mother, slim and beautiful as can be, who worries she is not the same weight as pre baby. It is just numbers and numbers can lie. I look in the mirror and see a woman approaching sixty years old. The make-up lady tells me my skin looks younger, but catching myself unaware in a shop window, I don't even recognize that person. Is that me? How can that be?

The baseball great, Satchel Paige said, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" The old lady has to be reminded she is old, in her mind she is still young. I think I would be 36 again, if I could appreciate it more. As it is, I will wear what looks good, no matter what the label says, and apply for jobs no matter the age I think they want. Because what are numbers anyway? Just a way of either enjoying or avoiding being here in the moment. And anyway, 60 is the new 50. Time to do this decade right.