I tugged the belt loop of my pants to keep them up.
All of the grafting of fat from my hips Monday squared out the last lingering curves. In their place, I have two black-purple bruises over a foot square. I wear a thick adhesive foam over the bruises, with a large stretchy tape.
I’m relieved. I am overjoyed. I am grateful. I have flights of fancy that I’ll be able to fit into things off the rack, and my silhouette won’t out me. I feel safer.
I hardly believe it happened, and I want to run to my community here and tell all about it. But they’re struggling just to get T, and I know it would sting. I couldn’t really tell my coworker friends either. It isn’t something I discuss with family. I think Ashley understands as well as anyone could, how the curves felt like carrying a ton of bricks on my shoulders– or rather, on my hips.
With each month of this last year, I’ve felt lighter. Maybe all those curves and scars were sand bags, and now the balloon can lift my soul into the clouds.
In most humble gratitude… I feel like I am flying.