I looked in the mirror as I took off my shirt to take a bath. There in the reflection was this bald woman with my eyes staring back. She had one breast and on the other side was a sort of lump of a “breast” with a scar across it and no nipple. I look in the mirror and I know that’s me but sometimes I can’t see myself. I looked at a photo of myself with hair and I cried because that was me and I really liked what I looked like. After years of being ashamed of my body, or at least some part of my body, I finally liked the way I look. Then I lose my hair and my breast. I saw the photo of me with my right breast showing and I remember how I felt back in February when it was taken: scared and facing the unknown. I miss my breast. I really do. I mean. I’m OK with it being gone because I certainly don’t miss the cancer that was inside of it, but I really do miss feeling whole and having that freedom of cleavage and balance on both sides. Having two nipples was rather nice and normal. I feel slightly abnormal sometimes. But then I don’t. I mean, I’m OK with it but I get concerned for other people and don’t want to shock them so I try to hide it. I guess I shouldn’t. I mean, why do I do that?
I am starting to forget what I looked like. I see women with hair and I want to wear a pony tail too or brush my hair, even. I know there are good and bad to each and I know it will grow back and I’ll be a redhead again, but I do miss my hair. Even with my perfect bald head I miss being pretty to other people… or maybe being pretty to myself because I’m not sure anyone else found me pretty with hair or not. I miss seeing me, the redhead, Marie. I miss her. But it’s still me, right? I have a great head! I look good bald. I just miss my hair. And my tit. I miss having it. My left tit misses the right one. I miss being even on each side & having natural breasts that sort of hang there. I miss being whole and I envy the women who have that now and I’m so… I don’t know, cancer-ish? What do I mean by that? I guess I’m so… ug, pity-able. I see people’s looks and they pity me. Don’t do that. I don’t want pity. I want compassion and understanding. I want to get through this and never deal with it again (I know, that is not really ever possible, but I’d like to dream). I want to get my boobs done and heal fast and move on with my acting career and be happy. I want my hair to grow back in redder than before, and better. Redder and better! That’s what I want. Not pity. I can use hugs. I can definitely use a shoulder to cry on since I feel a bit lost on my own cancer island out here, but no pity, please.
I just have to get through this somehow and I still have no idea how I’m doing it or how I have done it thus far, but I assure you that if I get out alive I will totally be taking photos of myself come the new year: new hair and new tits! But no matter how strong I seem to be it does not mean I don’t miss what I looked like. I really liked it. My hair, my tits, my happy smile… I want them all back. I live day by day and moment by moment because thinking too far ahead is scary and often pointless. What I have is now. So I’m ok with my no-boob and my bald head that’s getting freckled every day. I am. It’s ok; I like them. They are saving my life. But I really do miss my hair and my breast. And I can’t wait to be whole again (well, with the aid of implants that is!).