Snow Angels

I've emerged from my chrysalis, guys. And it isn't pretty. There are no bejewelled wings arching from my back like translucent, dainty rainbows. Butterflies are lucky that way. No, my metamorphosis is brutal, raw, and ugly. Hideous is also a relevant word when describing bright red and purple cuts etched into flesh where something lovely used to be. The first time I saw it, when I removed the bandages and stood in front of a mirror and truly saw it, I felt the tears overwhelm and glisten down my face. Not a torrent, but a trickle of hopeless tears. You can only subdue that sort of sadness with Valium.

My doctor called me a few hours after I was discharged from the hospital. After careful study of the breasts that had been removed days before, there was no evidence of cancer. This is good news. Very, very good news. But it makes a girl wonder. And I can't even write the question...I can't make it tangible. Please don't make me. My world is fragile enough now, without having to second guess gut-wrenching decisions after they've already been made and executed. I know I have to learn to love this thing, this scarred and mutated thing that I've opted to become. But it won't be today. And it won't be tomorrow. Thanks to everyone who has lied to my face and told me that I'm still beautiful. Those white lies fall onto my aching heart like a numbing snow and make it hurt less somehow. God bless you. I pray every day for a blizzard : )