Ode to Nordstrom

It's not what you think. Forget the shoes, I'm paying homage to the women in the lingerie department. The ones trained as "fit experts" for travelers on the breast cancer express.

Twice I've made the journey to the third floor of the nearby mall for help with bras. The first time was shortly after the mastectomies when the plastic surgeon advised me to find a gentle compression bra to use while undergoing "expansion." Turns out I only used the little bandeau beauties (think elastic bands) for a month before surrendering to the bliss of camisoles and nothing-at-all, since there was little need for support of any kind. The memory I have from the Nordstrom fitter, certified and trained to be absolutely nonplussed in the presence of mutilated mammary glands, was how utterly professional and kind the woman was. No pity, no sadness. I felt petite, not flat-chested. She was gifted, that sales woman.

Today I decided it was time to support The Girls. Ms. Choy was my guide back to the new world I'm living in. She did not blink when my scarred skin was exposed. Instead, she found exactly the right fit for me. Pretty, feminine. Real bras. I'd forgotten what it was like to buy lingerie. Goodbye, camisoles, love you though I do.

Here's to Nordstom, the best place I know for women post-mastectomy to visit when looking for a little "lift."