My last stay at the hotel not of my choice was as much fun as all the others. Doubly so because no rooms were available at the inn so I shared with a very obnoxious woman. Compassionately she was not dealing with the loss of her breast, I know this because she woke up and said I thought I’d be sadder than this. Her husband and her then spoke nonstop about their tesla, apparently it was broken into, their yacht, he needs more vit D it seems and half an hour on his yacht is not sufficient, their range rover. Anyway, it is annoyingly distracting trying not to hear when people speak as if you’re not in the room, but I felt my waning compassion return when it was apparent his life beyond that room mattered more as she said, stop arranging your social calendar, I just had my tit cut off. Harsh but true. He still only returned at two the next day. My returning compassion wavered a tad though as she treated the nurses like they weren’t there. But I did know two things. One, she just wanted to be seen. I am blessed with the presence of B. And I’m not meaning in a physical sense. I know how much pressure he is under and how much more pressure this puts him under and he is also who I rage against. Yet his presence is unwavering. And second, as my compassion welled up till I couldn’t breathe, she is at the start of a journey (still hate that word) I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Then again, I also relish the unbelievable learning opportunities she and her husband will encounter and hope it enables her to be seen and him to see her. And them to see others. The lesson in it all remains, see each other. Really see each other. And not only when times are tough. But at least then for fucks sake.

So, had my last surgery three days ago. I’m saying last on purpose with my middle finger up. My stylish Canadian plastic surgeon formed a nipple out of the back skin on my breast. It’s all crusty and enlarged and seems to be pointing in the wrong direction, but apparently it will shrivel and I must be patient. Some divots and dents have supposedly been filled in with fat from my tummy. My tummy is sore but I see once again no evidence of fat being transferred. To me my manufactured breasts seem unchanged but I know to give it time. I have a huge slash under my arm so I’m guessing that all wayward tissue has been successfully removed. I am biding my time. But I am done. Apart from some tattooing once everything is healed to complete the smoke and mirrors, I’m done. And in case I forgot all I’ve been through every doctor and nurse I encountered these past few days reminded me as I had to relay my history time and again. Some with dangerous head tilts. Some thankfully not. My goodness you have been through a lot, hopefully this is it. Hopefully it is.