Fuck Cancer

Tale of the Purple Feather Boa

I’m pretty sure there are nekkid pics of me out there, somewhere…

The Author, Wearing the Infamous Purple Feather Boa — Photo credit: Kathy Arabie

I tucked Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Snake, into my bag that cold, January morning. My friend Kathy Arabie had suggested it, and she didn’t have to twist my arm. If I had to book a photo session for the topless shots my Mama told me never to let anyone take — if my morning had to be awkward and humiliating — I wasn’t going down without taking several people with me.

I wasn’t sure I’d muster the nerve to pull it off. My husband drove me to the surgeon’s office, where I was handed a fifty-page booklet of things to read and consent to. One of them was the photos — and included consent to the surgeon posting them on her website. I balked. My husband reminded me that I had spent the better part of the month looking at other women’s topless photos. “Aren’t you being a little selfish?” he asked, gently, as I stared at that provision and refused to initial it.

“Valid point,” I conceded, signing all dignity away.

Then C____, the nurse, handed me a gown that appeared to be made of navy blue Tyvek and a black Tyvek thong. After assuring me that she would be the photographer taking my nudie pics, she left to allow me a moment’s illusion of privacy. I stripped naked, threw…