If you're a guy, you might want to skip this one. Unless you're with a woman who's dealing with all this.
So . . you know what?
I'm thinking seriously about calling a halt to this whole reconstruction thing.
I hate it. I'm sore. It's going to get worse, not better. I haven't seen my own bedroom in three weeks. It will probably be at least three months.
It would be one thing if this were medically necessary; fine, ok. But it's not.
I want to feel healthy and strong and not tired. I want to be able to do yoga. I want to be able to take a very long walk. I want to go nowhere near any kind of medical facility for months at a time. I don't see any of that in my near future if I continue with this.
My breast is gone. It was sort of a big deal, but in the end, not very much of one.
It wasn't Josh.
This isn't Josh either, but it's a bigger deal than the mastectomy. Weeks of "expansion." An implant finally inserted. Two more "minor" procedures to make my fake breast look like a real one. Another fairly major surgery to make my real one look more like my fake one.
Is it possible that I have completely lost my mind?
A law school classmate of mine wore one of the most gorgeous strapless dresses I have ever seen to her son's wedding this past summer. I was practically drooling over the FB pictures. Her toned body, her handsome son, her incredible dress. Oh, and her great haircut, too.
Well, the son whose wedding I was looking forward to is gone. Do I really care at all that I will never be able to wear a dress like that?
I'm going to talk to the plastic surgeon next week about what he can do to make what's left look sort of, well, not awful.
I want to have a yoga instructor, not a plastic surgeon.