The sisterhood of the cancerous boobs

As many of you know, I have never been a "girly" girl. In fact this has always been a point of contention with my mother, who to this day, doesn't understand what the appeal of triathlons are. Our first conversation on the topic went something like this:
"Guess what mom, I've joined a triathlon team. I'm sooo excited!"
"Where? Are there single men?"
"Hmmm, didn't really ask. We are going to train all summer."
"Train? For what? What are you doing again?"
"TRI-A-THLON mom. Swim, bike, run to raise money for cancer research.
"Hmmm, wouldn't it be just simpler to write a check? You are going to grow muscles all over your legs again..."
Sigh...

It turns out my grandmother was a serious tom-boy too. I had heard stories of this pretty governor's daughter in early 20th century Colombia disguising as a boy so she could leave the house and play with the street kids. She routinely smashed her imported porcelain dolls and preferred climbing trees to mandatory charming school lessons. Apparently I had inherited her aversion to bows and all things pink and frilly. My biggest nightmare as a child was having mom buy me dresses that made me look like a meringue...a very fluffy, ribonny, pink meringue! So I'd accidentally-on-purpose stain, rip, or in any way damage these ribbony torture chambers to avoid having to wear them. I was successful only some of the time unfortunately. (Sorry mom! Please don't get mad now.)

My aversion to girliness was most explicitly manifested in my deep fascination with sports, particularly track. My mom, who still believes that it's not lady-like to sweat was horrified--and to her credit, incredibly supportive. She had already tried ballet, music lessons, and all sorts of other girl-appropriate activities to no avail. Unfortunately for her, standing in front of the mirror looking like a pink shower-gel puff repeating position 1, 2, 3, endlessly could never match the thrill I got out of running with the boys. Running was exciting and kick-ass; ballet was delicate, slow and soooooooo boring! My competitive nature just couldn't take it. I finally joined my school's track team and become a junior national champion. Mom understood and tolerated my passion, but never really *liked* it.

So what does this have to do with having breast cancer? Patience, people...patience. Given my dislike of all things girly including activities that most girls engage in, I grew up around boys: my brother, half-brothers, and tons of boy-cousins at home; lots of boys on the track team at school; and then a ratio of 10 boys : 1 girl at my high school. Though I had "girl-friends" as a little girl, it wasn't until college that I learned that other kick-ass non-frilly girls are out there. Needless to say I befriended many of them and they remain in my life to this day.

But despite this realization, I hadn't really understood the power of "sisterhood" until I was diagnosed a few weeks back. Counselors, survivors, doctors, nurses, friends of friends, and all others in-between have opened up their arms and souls to help me understand my breast cancer. Women I have nothing in common with, and whom I hardly know have opened their homes and given me invaluable advice. Some have even shown me their mastectomy scars or reconstructed boobs. It's been overwhelming and quite surprising to know that someone will instantly offer their hand once they hear the words: "I have breast cancer." It makes me think we should all be more like this, all the time. I, for the first time, feel like a "sister" and it's amazing.