A sunny sky and cold ground. That's what I see outside my window today. Dearest One has gone to buy a few groceries. Covid cases are on the rise in our small city. It causes him angst to go out. He is working with the elderly and students in a high risk environment every week. I doubt his body has truly relaxed in months.
A year ago I had a conversation with my doctor about getting my remaining breast removed. I'd stopped wearing my prosthesis the previous year and as I am not a small breasted woman, I often felt uncomfortable being out and about and looking so lopsided.
This past week I had surgery and am now flat. Women in my online support groups talk about their buddha bellies that become so apparent after surgery. Last time around I thought I had a buddha belly, too. But I didn't. I just had an unobstructed view of my anatomy.
This time around I have such a belly that if I didn't look my age, I am sure I'd be regularly asked when I was due. It is what it is. In therapy we have recently talked about mind and body and how they are meant to work as a team. Tears rolled down my face. I did not know they were meant to be so. That bit of my journey will take longer than it took to acquire my buddha belly, to unravel.
We came home from the hospital and our kids texted to see if I was home. Dearest One took a photo of me and sent it as a response. I looked at it and burst into tears. I was not ready to have anyone see me in my newly flat state. I didn't know I wasn't ready until after the fact. Just typing that makes me want to hold my breath. If I was outside I could see my breath as I released it. Not in the puff, puff, puff bursts of little clouds that I want to breathe like, but in a long slow, exhalation.