My body is scarred and misshapen now. I have a scar running all the way across my lower abdomen past both of my hipbones (from tram flap surgery and radical liposuction). There are a couple of circular scars below that one from where tubes were inserted up through my body into my reconstructed breast. I have scars running all the way around the new breast. I now have scars on the right breast from a breast lift and re-placement of the nipple (to attain symmetry with the constructed breast). There is a hard lump under my left armpit with a ridge running under my new breast (remaining tissue necrosis from extensive radiation). Though it's all an improvement over the way I looked after my mastectomy, it's definitely not a pretty site.
I've regarded them as deformities so hideous that I've never let Hubby see them. Last week, when he asked me when I thought I might be interested in resuming intimacy, I told him that I'm afraid he'll be repulsed. He reassured me, but I still had my doubts. Obviously, those doubts are centered in my own revulsion.
I'm working on a new perspective. Every day, I look at myself in the mirror. I'm reminded that these are battle scars that should be respected and honored. They're evidence of a rite of passage like those celebrated by warriors in aboriginal cultures. I've walked through darkness and fought with demons. I emerged bloody and wounded. The scars are a roadmap of valor.
I look into my eyes, searching for some glimmer of beauty and wisdom. Then it's revealed. I'm beautiful because I have warrior spirit.
