Today a brown envelope plopped through my letterbox. I've been waiting for an appointment to have my breast tattoo touched up. This is a big moment as far as my reconstruction is concerned: it is the grand flourish, the embonpoint, if you will. For a true finishing touch, the pigments for nipples rival some of the best nail varnish names you can get. My nurse tattooist combined Diamond Blush with Burgundy Bounty when I had my first round of colouring. It was more uncomfortable than I expected: a good thing, because it meant that nerves had grown into the breast skin from my back muscle (I don't have implants). I have sensation there. My breast feels real.
After the initial tattoo in June 2011, the breast care nurse told me to wait for a few months to let the colour and the shape sink in: "it might take a few goes," she said. It's a fine art this, matching a fake nipple and areola complex with the original. Just now, after picking the envelope up off the mat, I wrote the appointment on my calendar (30th April). I might as well have been writing down an appointment for a manicure. This is a mark of how far I have come. I once felt like Frankenstein's monster: awkward, ugly, stitched-up. Today I feel like I've got myself back. My only question is whether the nurse will go for more Blush or more Bounty. I think I am going to take her a drink.