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I used old and new photos online, as my wigs were fabulously thick and long: one wig takes six to eight people’s real hair, and I was still carrying a beautiful tan from the summer that hid my new ghostly complexion.
Despite how things all went down with my ex, I should really thank him for noticing my lump in the first place.
Later, he would support me by saying that he wasn’t really a boob guy and showed me photos of women with beautiful “mastectomy tattoos.” This helped calm my mind about the potential future mutilation of my body.
I was terrified of a double mastectomy, mostly of the idea of someone cutting off my nipples.
Plus, I’ve found that you can’t say, “I don’t drink” without an explanation. When men would ask me out for a drink, I found myself wondering if I wanted to use up my precious beverage experience that week on a stranger, or if I wanted to save it for friends.
I learned to say, “Would you rather go for coffee, or for a walk?