Dear Left Breast,
It’s been exactly four years, since I last stood with you in a dressing room at the hospital and made Sam take pictures of you. Four years since Dr. Yoga Surgeon and Dr. Serious Surgeon chopped you, plopped you in a petri dish, and sent you out with the hospital trash. Four years since you had your last moments, since you sacrificed your life on my body so I could keep living.
I don’t have much to say Left Breast.
We wrote a song about you.
I miss you and even though Dr. Yoga Surgeon did a very superb job of matching you, you don’t match exactly.
Your buddy, Right Breast, got to breastfeed baby Mica for nine months. We missed you terribly when my poor raw nipple really needed a break, but we got through it.
I’m still proud of you, Left Breast. I miss you. Like, a lot. My back and side and fake boob are numb- they are not full of feeling like you were. Amazingly, the scars are nearly invisible. They’ve faded back into me.
The implant is hard and tight, and I can always feel the tightness. I don’t think about you, or the cancer very often, but there’s always a sense about your presence in my body. The implant is underneath my muscle, so whenever I flex my pectoral it gets all bunched up and wrinkly, and I don’t like that very much. It doesn’t jiggle or move, and when I lay flat on my back it stays in the same sloped position it is in when I’m standing up.
I’m very alive, and I have three beautiful children, and we’re back in California where we always wanted to be.
But really, all I’ve got to say, Left Breast, is that I’m still here. I’m listening to my heart more now, and I think you’d be proud. Thank you for taking the cancer away. Thank you for helping me survive. See you on the other side. Here's some pictures to show you how far we've come.
Chelsey is a digital storyteller, geek, mama, researcher and yogi. She loves to make things and her favorite food is artichokes.