curtain, I hear Brendan’s voice. “You can say that again.”
Chapter 12
Things
return to normal after the infection disaster, so I’m keen to get back to work.
Having come to the conclusion that daytime TV is as inane as it was when I was
nursing Rory, I plan to go to the shop for a few hours the next morning. It may
be that I have to admit defeat and take up residence on the couch afterwards
but I’m hopeful I can make it through a day. I’m actually feeling buoyant and
chirpy, like I’ve been given a new lease of life since that drain was removed
and the infection has begun to subside.
As with most
mornings in Perth, the sky is a clear blue, promising another warm day. Now
that I’m driving again, I drop Rory in the drive-through without a hitch. I
even give Miss Butterworth a wave; something I like to do because I know it
makes her uncomfortable. My hope is that one day she’ll wave or smile in return
but there’s about as much chance of that as there is me growing my boob back.
Still, I persist. It adds punch to the morning.
After I
collect coffee for myself and Lani, I head towards my first day at work since
my surgery. It’s also my first day of wearing the ‘cushion bra’. Until now, my
only trip out of the house was to the café and the doctor’s, so I’ve not needed
it, but if I want to rejoin society, I have to face the thing sooner rather than
later. And seeing as I have no choice in the matter, other than to be
completely lopsided, I suppose I should wear it. I might scare the customers
away otherwise.
Earlier this
morning, I looked at myself in the mirror for a good ten minutes, hoping that the
boob wouldn’t look as fake to everyone else as it appears to me. I didn’t
manage to convince myself completely. I still feel like I’m wearing a great big
cushiony sign that says, ‘Check this out!’ I am, however, getting used to the idea
that there’s a big space where my breast used to be, and while people think I’m
being brave and ‘coping’, I can say with honesty, having one breast has not
made that much difference to the way I feel about myself. Some women get quite
upset after a mastectomy. They believe their femininity has been taken away. I don’t
feel anything like that. It’s neither here, nor there, to me. The only thing I
don’t like is being lopsided. I don’t feel less of a woman because of it.
Armed with
lattes and two crumpets heaped with butter, I push the door of the shop open with
my hip. Lani’s already in. She’s been a rock this past fortnight and though
I’ve spoken to her every day on the phone, I’ve only seen her once when she
popped by the hospital. I’m hoping it’ll be quiet this morning so we can have a
good catch-up.
“Lani?” I
head for the back of the shop and dump my bag in the cupboard.
“In here.”
Lani appears
from the storeroom carrying a large pile of hats I’ve never seen before. She’s
wearing a pale blue mini kilt, black ankle boots, legwarmers and a teeny cream-coloured
angora jumper that looks remarkably like a powder puff. Around her head, she’s
knotted a pale blue bandana that’s reminiscent of a Bananarama film clip I used to love. The tied ends are sitting up
on top of her bald head like rabbit ears.
Bald head?
I do a
double take.
“Your hair?”
The words splutter out in a sort of hysterical squeak. I’m used to Lani’s crazy
get-up but shaving her head? What was she thinking? She’s balder than a baby’s bottom.
“You like
it?” She plops the hats on the table before me and gives her head a primp, like
she’s smoothing the non-existent hair. Then she turns side to side so I can
admire it from every angle.
“I… uh… it’s
very unusual. You look so different.”
“I thought
it might make you feel better. You know, doing it together.”
Oh no, she’s
shaved her head to cheer me up.
“But I’m fine.
Everything’s getting back to normal.”
Lani walks
over to the table and
Chapter 12
Things
return to normal after the infection disaster, so I’m keen to get back to work.
Having come to the conclusion that daytime TV is as inane as it was when I was
nursing Rory, I plan to go to the shop for a few hours the next morning. It may
be that I have to admit defeat and take up residence on the couch afterwards
but I’m hopeful I can make it through a day. I’m actually feeling buoyant and
chirpy, like I’ve been given a new lease of life since that drain was removed
and the infection has begun to subside.
As with most
mornings in Perth, the sky is a clear blue, promising another warm day. Now
that I’m driving again, I drop Rory in the drive-through without a hitch. I
even give Miss Butterworth a wave; something I like to do because I know it
makes her uncomfortable. My hope is that one day she’ll wave or smile in return
but there’s about as much chance of that as there is me growing my boob back.
Still, I persist. It adds punch to the morning.
After I
collect coffee for myself and Lani, I head towards my first day at work since
my surgery. It’s also my first day of wearing the ‘cushion bra’. Until now, my
only trip out of the house was to the café and the doctor’s, so I’ve not needed
it, but if I want to rejoin society, I have to face the thing sooner rather than
later. And seeing as I have no choice in the matter, other than to be
completely lopsided, I suppose I should wear it. I might scare the customers
away otherwise.
Earlier this
morning, I looked at myself in the mirror for a good ten minutes, hoping that the
boob wouldn’t look as fake to everyone else as it appears to me. I didn’t
manage to convince myself completely. I still feel like I’m wearing a great big
cushiony sign that says, ‘Check this out!’ I am, however, getting used to the idea
that there’s a big space where my breast used to be, and while people think I’m
being brave and ‘coping’, I can say with honesty, having one breast has not
made that much difference to the way I feel about myself. Some women get quite
upset after a mastectomy. They believe their femininity has been taken away. I don’t
feel anything like that. It’s neither here, nor there, to me. The only thing I
don’t like is being lopsided. I don’t feel less of a woman because of it.
Armed with
lattes and two crumpets heaped with butter, I push the door of the shop open with
my hip. Lani’s already in. She’s been a rock this past fortnight and though
I’ve spoken to her every day on the phone, I’ve only seen her once when she
popped by the hospital. I’m hoping it’ll be quiet this morning so we can have a
good catch-up.
“Lani?” I
head for the back of the shop and dump my bag in the cupboard.
“In here.”
Lani appears
from the storeroom carrying a large pile of hats I’ve never seen before. She’s
wearing a pale blue mini kilt, black ankle boots, legwarmers and a teeny cream-coloured
angora jumper that looks remarkably like a powder puff. Around her head, she’s
knotted a pale blue bandana that’s reminiscent of a Bananarama film clip I used to love. The tied ends are sitting up
on top of her bald head like rabbit ears.
Bald head?
I do a
double take.
“Your hair?”
The words splutter out in a sort of hysterical squeak. I’m used to Lani’s crazy
get-up but shaving her head? What was she thinking? She’s balder than a baby’s bottom.
“You like
it?” She plops the hats on the table before me and gives her head a primp, like
she’s smoothing the non-existent hair. Then she turns side to side so I can
admire it from every angle.
“I… uh… it’s
very unusual. You look so different.”
“I thought
it might make you feel better. You know, doing it together.”
Oh no, she’s
shaved her head to cheer me up.
“But I’m fine.
Everything’s getting back to normal.”
Lani walks
over to the table and
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