August 2, 2006

Originally posted on the Breast Health Online forum

My co-workers keep bringing me stuff, in preparation for my surgery: music, DVDs, magazines, lollipops, entire bags of frozen Chinese chicken dumplings (I call them "meat pillows"). Yesterday Marie brought me a handmade patchwork vest, similar to one she wears all the time.

"It's beautiful," I told her sincerely, although secretly I am convinced that it will never fit me. How could it? How could something so small, so delicate, so feminine ever fit across this mammoth chest of mine?  I suppose I won't truly *believe* until I'm standing in front of the mirror, watching myself fasten the buttons ...

Today I am concentrating on work, trying to get as much "done" in advance as possible. I want the office to run efficiently in my absence. (Read this: I don't want anybody calling me on my sickbed, demanding to know where the extra fax toner is.)  It's keeping me busy and distracted and helping the day to pass, at least. Later today our office is closing for a couple of hours, so we can all go out to lunch and celebrate one of the agents meeting her rental goal last month. Part of me does not want to go to the lunch: I'm exhausted, my stomach is upset, my allergies are killing me (and I can't take anything for it: no meds before surgery)  ...  AND on top of everything else I'm feeling even "boobier" than usual today.  It's as though my breasts have decided to grow EVEN MORE GINORMOUS THAN EVER BEFORE  ...   just to go out in a blaze of glory, I suppose. I feel big and bloated and cranky and anxious, and all I really want to do is hole up here in my little office and type lists until my fingers fall off.  But I'm going to force myself to go to the lunch anyway ... hopefully it will draw me out of my own head for a little while.

Plus: free lunch.  Can't argue with that.

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