After the Tears

Women threw off their scratchy wigs. They danced bald -- some with henna-tattooed or makeup-dusted bronzed scalps -- at the Saturday night dinner. There were hotel room parties where women disrobed to compare reconstructed breasts. Sometimes, they got together to shave heads, to control chemo's patchy hair loss.

There were workshops such as "How to Get Your Groove Back: Dating After Breast Cancer," and a late-night pajama party where women browsed through massage oils, vibrators and striptease games, to help when chemo and breast surgery deflate confidence and libidos. (Pure Romance, the Tupperware-like party planners of sex toys, hosted the party.)

There were informal cocktail hours for husbands and boyfriends and an online support group called Dudes for Boobs who bonded over what my husband has told me again and again: "Survival Is Sexy." There were also sessions for lesbian and bisexual partners. Grunge rock and indie folk cancer survivors distributed their CD, "I'm Too Young for This!"

Call it Cancerpalooza, where Generation X meets breast cancer.

Years ago, breast cancer was such a taboo that the older generations were often told to have a happy, smiley attitude, never, ever take off their big wigs -- especially around their husbands -- and wear a bulky prosthetic bra.

It was as if their womanhood had betrayed them and even mass marketing enforced the message that without breasts they were somehow in need of infantilizing fluffy stuffed animals -- in pink, of course -- to make the pain go away.

But pink teddy bears didn't go over as well last weekend. So many of the young cancer survivors seemed to feel more comforted being in a state of rage, then using that anger to create a new identity.

There were "Cancer Can Kiss My Ass" and "Bald Is Beautiful" T-shirts. Leopard print, and black and bright blue LymphaDiva arm compression sleeves, invented by a 23-year-old graphic designer and cancer survivor Robin Miller. She was frustrated by the drab wraps like Ace bandages that some survivors need to wear for the rest of their lives because of a post-surgery condition called lymphedema.

And there was my personal favorite: Real Breast Cancer Barbie.

"I was so angry when I heard that Mattel had made a Pink Ribbon Barbie. The only thing cancer about her was a pink ribbon," said Linnea Johnston, who was 33 when she found her lump. "I mean she had bouffant curls! So I took a Barbie, plucked out all her hair, put her on a bright red chemo drip, put a fake MediPort in her chest, and of course put in drains for after surgery."

Cancer Barbie's accessories: a bright pink toilet with a fat pink ribbon on the seat cover.

Nearby, Alisa Savoretti, a former Las Vegas showgirl who didn't have insurance after her diagnosis at 38, was raising funds for breast reconstruction for other uninsured women. She was rallying women to pressure Playboy, Hooters and Victoria's Secret -- the axis of evil or triple profiteers of breasts.