On August 24th, 2010, Dan and I are going to celebrate fourteen years of marriage with a bit of surgery. Sounds a bit kinky? Not half! I'm going to be spending our anniversary with another man, my surgeon, who is surely sharpening up his scalpel as we speak. We made the date some time ago, when I was convinced my back would never heal and needed something to look forward to. I was so miserable at the prospect of having a perpetual hole in my back and a breast marauding under my armpit that I didn't care when the surgery would be; I just needed to know that I'd have my back fixed and my reconstruction completed. Swapping champagne for morphine is neither here nor there when it comes to feeling whole again.
This time around, I'm having several procedures done at the same time, but they are minor compared to the previous round of surgery. I'm having a new nipple, my back tidied, and lipo-filling, which is a technique using fat from the stomach to shape the breast. I've put on around three kilos since my surgery in February, so I've given Mr A permission to take a bit extra if he likes. Actually, I'm lying. I've asked him to take as much as is humanly possible, but he reckons he'll only need about 100 grammes. Bugger. Still, got to be careful, because the body doesn't forget where its tissue truly belongs: if you tend to put weight on in the abdominal area and then move that abdominal fat elsewhere (i.e. a new breast), you need to watch your cup size: I've been told that the breast will get bigger along with my stomach and give me a lop-sided chest. It's a blow because the breast care nurse has encouraged me to eat as much chocolate as I like until the surgery. It's going to be a hard habit to break. Still, there's always the morphine on demand. Can't wait.