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Tuesday, September 9, 2014

28 grams

I've been thinking lately about weight, and waiting. Waiting for this experience to be over, though by now I know there's not a fixed day. Weight, as in the heavy lightness that now sits on my chest.

Before, my breasts were things to be reckoned with, cajoled into supportive, wired, multihooked bras. When I weighed myself, I always thought, "Well take off ten pounds for the boobs." (They don't count, obviously.)

They were so heavy that I dreaded the way they would look in old age, a hubris I can only laugh at now. But they were so, so heavy. Except in water.

I don't know how to swim...I took a class at the Y once, but didn't completely learn. But what I did experience why the way my chest held me up in deeper water. At home, in the bath, the same thing happened.

Tonight I take a salted bath and note my lack of buoyancy. The saline pouch on the right side of my chest sits comfortably, inertly. Left side just quivers at being exposed to the light and heat.

On my path report, I learn the truth about the weight. Right, 752 grams, left, 780. Just over a pound and half each, nowhere near the five I'd overly generously estimated. They loomed large in my mind, I guess.

But hang on, back to those numbers. Right, 752, left 780. They were mostly symmetrical, so does that 28 gram difference, that one ounce difference, account for...what? The tumors, I suppose. Added up, just ten pennies' worth of death.

Those ones are locked away in a freezer somewhere, and they can't hurt me anymore. (Played on repeat.)

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