They are not the right shape. They aren't the same size. They feel different and in place of where a nipple should be, I have long, angry incisions. I'm am mutilated.
Of course I knew all of this before I took my clothes off today. I have known this for months. But to start to round the bend to recovery and realize that it will never, ever be the same, I am always and forever different - it is...what word can I use to describe it? It is complex.
I never thought I would talk about my breasts in public, let alone write about them on a public blog, but here I am, just trying to communicate how in one sense I am so detached from them - in that I don't need them, or want them since they were trying to kill me - and in another way, they are somewhat definitive of my whole journey, and important. What an odd thing.
Just out of the shower, I know I need to immerse myself in God's words, or else I might find myself meditating on my scars in a negative way all day long. I pull out some scripture cards that someone gave me near the beginning of this journey and begin to read:
"Have I not commanded you, Amanda? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."
"You are not your own, Amanda; you were bought with a price, therefore, glorify God in your body."
"Behold, Amanda, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands."
What an amazing reminder that Jesus's body was mutilated and scarred beyond anything I can imagine, for me.
I am not the same. No surgery will be able to make me the same. But there is redemption here. I can't see it at every moment, but when the veil is pulled back for a second and I see it clearly, that is enough to hold on to.
It is hope.
That I am not alone.
That He knows my pain.
That he will use this broken body for His purposes anyway.
And that one day I will be made new.