Part of my ongoing treatment includes massage therapy. For obvious reasons I have not had a massage in the last 2 months. The idea of laying face down for any length of time has zero appeal.
My body has been aching ferociously for the last week, so I decided I was ready to start back at it. My usual therapist was not available until after the holidays so Doug made me an appointment with his.
When I entered the women's changing room I suddenly became self-conscious. Let's be honest here, no matter how liberal you are, seeing a chest, mid reconstruction, would be a shocking sight.
I was reminded of the time I was in the very same changing room with a woman whose arms were covered in obvious, fresh, self inflicted cutting wounds.
It was a visual shock, but more shocking was the brutal honesty they portrayed. She was not trying to hide herself in any way. In fact, I remember her walking from the changing room to the sauna completely naked.
But I wasn't ready for such a revelation today. So I turned my back to the room as I got undressed.
The massage was good and painful at the same time. It was hard to float on my expanded chest. When it came time to roll over I felt like a baby seal trying to flop back out to the ocean. My arms seemed too short, my chest too high.
Back at home I took my usual evening bubble bath. I don't really love bubbles, but they help cover up my chest since the kids follow me every where I go.
Tonight Harper asked if she could join me, "like we used to do". I explained to her that I had some scars on my chest that I just wasn't ready to show her yet.
Someday I will. I will explain it all to her. And she will understand that to be different is ok.
And to be willing to let the world see your difference is what it means to be brave.
Just not tonight.
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