Page 140 of While I’m Still Here

“Yes.” I think about it. “And no.”

“That sounds about right.”

I look down at my chest again. “Marcus said everybody recognised him after his surgery, but he didn't recognise himself.”

Mum glances briefly at Marcus, and when she looks back at me, understanding comes across her face. “That's exactly it.”

Something about having both of them say it loosens a knot inside me. Not because it fixes anything. My breasts don't magically reappear because two people understand why I'm grieving them. I still hate the dressings. I still hate the drains. I still want the body from yesterday back so badly that I can feel the wanting in my throat, but I'm not failing at this.

“Did you ever stop missing yours?” I ask.

Mum's eyes soften. “Sometimes I still do.”

“Even with the reconstruction?”

“Even with reconstruction.”

I stare at her.

Mum brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “Reconstruction gave me something I wanted, Bea. I'm glad I had it. But it didn't erase what happened before it. It didn't make my original breast come back. I still had to get used to a body that was different from the one I'd known.”

I look down again. “Do you think I'll get used to this?”

“I think you've had it for about five minutes.”

“Mum.”

“I mean it.” She squeezes my hand. “Stop demanding answers from yourself today. You don't have to decide whether you love your chest. You don't have to decide whether you'll ever love it. You don't even have to like it. Today you can just be pissed off.”

A laugh catches in my throat. “Marcus said that.”

Mum looks over her shoulder towards him. “I like Marcus.”

Danny makes a wounded noise from the other side of the room. Mum ignores him. I laugh properly this time, and Mum smiles before leaning forward and pressing a kiss against my forehead. When she pulls back, I catch her hand before she can move away. “Mum?”

“Yes?”

“I really want my tits back.”

Her face crumples just slightly. “I know, baby.”

Chapter 21

I’m titless… 15:09 p.m.

Age: 30

Tumours: Hopefully fucking zero.

Breasts yesterday: 2.

Breasts today: 0.

Men I had sex with on my final night of having breasts: 3.

Men who then accompanied me to hospital like an extremely inappropriate honour guard: 3.

Hours slept between the four of us: Approximately 7, collectively.