First, a confession: I can be quite neurotic – hypersensitive, over-dramatic, lacking in objective perspective, even downright loony.
Perhaps I am still “processing” the whole ordeal of losing my right breast. Or maybe I'm this way all the time, but won't admit to it without an excuse.
I do not want any of the feelings that I write here to reflect on the professionalism and skill of the doctors who have treated me. Even though I have not quite come to terms with my reconstruction surgery – things are, in fact, still changing – I consider my plastic surgeon to be extremely competent, responsive, and perhaps a genius.
I am getting used to my new breasts – even starting to feel that they look good, despite not being perfect matches. The right breast is falling more and I don’t feel so strange looking.
And because I’m more healed, I’m not afraid to expose my breasts anymore. (Yes, I make love with nothing covering them now – yeah!) What is it about the way I do not want others to see my wounds - to see where I hurt? I bet a shrink could make something of that.
Maybe part of my reason for writing here is to have a place to put my hurt.