I get a lot of support and a lot of grief for wanting my reconstruction now, not later. What people don't seem to realize is I am not able to emotionally put my ordeal with cancer behind me until I can finally say to people, "I'm done with treatment." Like it or not, reconstruction is a treatment. It helps to restore the woman bereft of her figure to something close to her once hour glass body. Face it, the basis for a woman's body is hair, boobs, hips, and legs by most person's perceptions. Don't try to give me that "it's just a breast" crap. I want you to have something lopped off and be told, it's just a body part. See how badly you want to rip that person's eyes out... then say "they're just eyes"...
The faerytale ending doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't need to be the signifier that no troubles shall ever again this way come. It just needs to close the book on the terror that slipped into my life through my body and betrayed my being to the hands of the medical teams in town, requiring me to sacrifice my hair, my body, my independence, and, at times, my sanity.
Give me my chapter's last sentence: With her new body, both beaten and renewed, but her soul not broken, Julie looked to the horizon; the sun was rising and with its light her future looked all the more bright.
|Not the body of a model, but it was Me|