This Body is Bullshit

I got back Sunday from my trip to Austin with Natalie for her birthday. What a cool city. We had the best time exploring, eating, and laughing. We were asleep before 10 o’clock every night. The bed in our hotel was so comfortable we named it The Marshmallow. I swear it hugged us. We even laid around in the mornings watching TV, something neither of us ever does at home. It was casual and easy—just pure fun.

I adore her. I don’t think most people get to see the quiet, curious, gentle, and generous side of Natalie that I do. We both recharged, used each other as sounding boards, and already started scheming our next trip. I rode an electric scooter for the first time (terrifying but hilarious), and she taught me a new card game. Even though I was popping 800 mg of ibuprofen a few times a day thanks to these stupid joint pains, I enjoyed every minute of it. It could’ve been the sleepy gummy we took before bed that made The Marshmallow feel like heaven—because when I got home Sunday night, I could not fall asleep to save my life.

It was a beautiful day when I got home, though. So good to see Matt and the dogs. I spent the afternoon working on the deck and clearing out the plants for fall. Monday was right back to reality—super busy at work—but I managed to catch up before heading out early for a doctor’s appointment with Dr. Fine.

As the day went on, the creeping anxiety started building. I called Matt to tell him I was feeling uneasy. He was, of course, supportive, but I couldn’t shake the feeling. By the time I got in the car, I had a full-blown panic attack. I tried to hold back tears, but I think deep down, I was scared.

Dr. Fine is wonderful—he talked me down and helped me figure out a plan. I was supposed to get the nipple “bumps” that day—a small procedure I thought would make me feel or look more “normal,” maybe help with intimacy, maybe make me look more like the old me. But the truth? I wasn’t ready. I think I wanted it for Matt more than for myself.

Dr. Fine told me I could move forward with the tattoos even without the bumps, and honestly, that sounded better. My chest is basically a roadmap of scars—adding more doesn’t exactly thrill me. He even drew Sharpie nipples on me to show where they’d go (which was hilarious and oddly grounding) and told me to order temporary tattoo nipples on Amazon. He also warned me not to Google “temporary tattoo nipples” because I might not like what pops up. Fair enough.

His PA, Lexy, is the one who originally talked me into scheduling the bump procedure. She said it makes things look even more real and natural, and I wanted to believe that. I think I was excited about the idea of Matt seeing me that way again. But once I was there, it hit me that I didn’t need it—or maybe that I didn’t want it yet.

When I got home, Matt and I talked about it. He was kind and reassuring, as always. He just wants me to be happy and healthy. And I just want him to still find me attractive. It’s such a weird, vulnerable place to be—caught between hormones, scars, and the ghost of who I used to be.

Tomorrow I’m meeting a group of women for our “warrior dinner” to kick off breast cancer awareness month. It’s bittersweet. Some are closer than others, but there’s this sisterhood that doesn’t need words. We’ve all been through it. We don’t have to explain. We just show up.