Completely real now. Keep staring at my boobs and feeling them and mourning them before they go. They suddenly tell stories that I’ve never really pieced together before, how they were in my youth and my beautiful curves. How they were loved by my husband (and a few other onlookers!). And more importantly what they became in mother hood, feeding and growing and nurturing and loving 2 children from birth to toddlers (and longer, in the case of Hope!).
And that, soon, in a few days, those will be gone. And I will be temporarily flat chested, deeply scarred and in pain.
I saw a photo on one of the Facebook groups of a lady, in tears, 3 days after PBM. Saying she had been like this all day and was it normal and would it pass? And so many helpful replies saying the emotional side is hard to recover from, but it passes, and you move on, and there is a new normal. And I guess I’m psyching myself up for this, accepting that I will grieve, and it will be deeply, but reminding me that I must also start collecting and repeating those affirmative statements about why this is a good and positive journey.
My friends have been amazing. Totally amazing. I had a (mostly) surprise meal at East Beach cafe a week ago with 10 people - most of whom had never met each other. Kim made a box up of goodies that everyone contributed to - little travel mug, crossword books, toiletries, knitted boobs (of course!), snacks. And then Roamy gave me “the book”. Which I haven’t delved into yet but it looks amazing. It is for the very darkest of moments pre and post surgery.
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