I'm a Model, you know what I mean...

And I do my little turn on the catwalk.
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk-
yeah, I shake my little tush on the catwalk.

Yes, I just quoted "I'm Too Sexy." And yes, I knew all the words without looking them up. 1992 was a great year.

These are some cropped pictures from my naked photo shoot. You heard me- cropped. I will pose naked but putting my tits and my snatch on the internet for every freak who googles naked or cancer? No thanks. Again, I must credit my photographer, Christine Benjamin for her amazing work. Perhaps one day I will be a page in her "I of the Beholder" book, my girls out on your coffee table.

How was that photo shoot, you ask? Well, it was many things. Liberating, uncomfortable, fun, sad, moving, fucked up. I was more comfortable with bearing my body than bearing my soul. See, as Christine snapped away, she asked me to go into my thoughts about cancer, my body, whatever. It was so hard for me not to crack jokes and put on some cheesy smile. In fact, when I tried to dodge some of her questions with an inappropriate crack, she wouldn't let me. Before I knew it, I was talking about how uncomfortable I've become with my body. How I've lost a bit of myself. And then the tears came. Fucking tears. I kept thinking to myself, "cry pretty." I do not cry pretty. I have a very unflattering picture of me sobbing from my wedding, mascara streaming down my face. When the shoot was over, I asked, "Does everybody cry during this?"

"Pretty much," she said.

I am in fact, NOT a model. I had no idea what to do with my hands or how to stand. I felt forced. It was harder than I thought. It was hard not to "pose" or to stand purposely to hide certain flaws or accentuate the positives. It was hard not to think about the 30 pounds I'd gained from cancer that I haven't shed yet. Or how to put my hand where I had earned some cancer stretch marks. Christine had me just talk, and move my hands accordingly.

How do I feel about the finished product? They're beautiful. And moving, I think. However, it's hard not to focus on the flaws. My lopsided boob is much more prominent than I thought it was. The spare tire around the middle is not so pretty. I have a wicked double chin. Then again, I had a double chin 20 pounds ago so there's no surprise.

I know, this is shitty to think of these things, as the whole point of the photos is not to focus on them. That we are beautiful despite them. That we are strong, wonderful women. It's easy to think that when looking at someone else.

I guess my problem is that I look at these pictures and it feels like looking at someone else. It doesn't look like me. In my mind, I'm still athletic and blond. I have long straight hair. I'm smiling. Or laughing. I radiate a little bit of sex. A me I'm not quite ready to give up, yet. Not only do these photos not match my own image, they show a vulnerability that I'm not quite comfortable with. A vulnerability I can thank cancer for giving me.

Perhaps that's why these photos are so good.