Just as it was getting light this morning, I stood and had a good look at my naked body in the mirror, something I avoid doing since I got older. Tomorrow, I doubt I'll have time, so today I wanted to say a fond farewell to the part of my breast that will be removed.
I noticed the old scars, the love handles and the bumps and stretches that came from carrying three children, and from simply living. My body isn't perfect, not by any stretch, but it's mine. It tells a story. The lines, the marks, the wear and tear, they speak of love, loss, laughter, survival. I’ve got some metal bits but I’m far from bionic, and after tomorrow I’ll have more changes to carry. But I’ll still be here.
I looked at the story written on my body, the outward marks of love, happiness, pain and sadness and thought: Oh bugger it, go get some breakfast.