On second, thought...

Sunday morning was a mess.  I was tormented by decisions about "reconstruction."  Should I? Shouldn't I?  What happened to being proud and shameless?  Turns out that once my anger at plastic surgeon #1 faded, I wasn't feeling so happy about being lopsided.  I noticed I was rounding my shoulders at the gym, avoiding eye contact.

Why wasn't I feeling like Matushka?

And, why wasn't feeling like getting some nice new, perky breasts?


I began to realize that I had still not fully accepted my situation.  Despite the altered body and bald head, somehow I was or am still in denial.