Since the day I got my drivers license, I’ve always looked forward to my 25th birthday. Sure, 18 was a pretty big deal because I could vote or, if I did wrong, be thrown into prison. And 21 was a big feat, for obvious reasons. But at 25 society would finally initiate me into the adult community. On March 21, 2012, I could rent a car, which is the final rite of passage in this country.
I could feel the tears coming on. I tried to fight the urge to sob, because I was in the middle of the metro during rush hour. This is no place to have a water works show. But I was reading Why I Wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy, and it just hit me as hard and fast as the trains breezing past me on the platform. While doctors won’t be cutting off my boobs, they’re cutting them out. I’ll wake up from surgery with two large wounds where my rack used to be. What will it be like to wake up from surgery and look down to see them gone? Within weeks I’ll have them back. But they’ll never be quite the same. The thought of saying goodbye to my girls, especially in those last moments, is all too painful sometimes. The thought of all those scapels is even more painful. Read more …