A tale of two boobs: Part 7
One procedure left: tattoos. For color-matching reasons. On Tuesday. I’ll skip the details.
My Franken-nipples are now 98% healed. They are marginally less repulsive than when the bandages came off. I still have mixed feelings about the nipple reconstruction procedure.
One, because now they always think it’s cold in here. There is no warming them up.
Two, because reconstructed nipples are to actual nipples as Sesame Street’s Ernie is to an actual man. You see them and you instantly know what they’re supposed to be, but there’s no mistaking them for the real thing. They cartoonish and skewed, a caricature of the real thing. They’re silly.
But over Thanksgiving, I realized where all this started. I wanted a reduction. I wanted no more back pain.
And, whoa, I have that.
I can stand around for hours and not have screaming pain. I can walk to my car at the end of the day and not feel achy. I can run and jump and play like all the other kids.
Also I have this awesome new party trick. Remind me to show you sometime when I’m wearing something low-cut.
