They're gone. My breasts have been removed. I'm flat-chested. I'm mannish. I'm incomplete.
An essential part of my being, the me I was born as and born to be, has been removed. I'm not a woman anymore. I can never see Liam again. Never. I always half hoped that I could maybe get rid of this kid and run home to Liam. Then I saw a mirror.
Frank came in, humble and supportive as ever, to ask me how I was feeling and if I'd like to learn to check the bandages. It's the first time I've seen him. He didn't have to say "Everything went well, Lynnie". Thats fucking obvious. Blatantly, boldly obvious that I am boobless. Anyway, I just kind of nodded and he began showing me what to do in a mirror and as we together unraveled me so I could learn how to care for the hole in my chest it became stunningly apparent how wrong my chest looks physically, let alone feels. I am a horror to behold. Liam could have never loved me if this is how I looked that day at the golf club.
I immediately started to cry. Huge, fat fucking tears came pouring out of me when I saw myself. It was the confirmation that leaving Liam was the right thing. Until now, it never felt like the right thing. I thought I could somehow find my way home. But nope. I'll likely never see Liam again. So I cry.
Three craters in my chest.