Some Hope?

“Let’s have a look, shall we?” My plastic surgeon says. He pulls the blue plastic curtain around us. Slipping my top off, I look down at the flat right side of my chest. It’s healed up beautifully.
“That looks good,” he says. “It’s healed very well. What did your oncologist say?”
“He says that it’s fine for you to put the implant back in,” I say.
“Good,” he says. “You can put your clothes back on now.”
Pulling my training bra over my head, I put the softie inside it and then put on my top. Making my way over to the desk, I sit next to Mum and opposite my plastic surgeon.
“So,” he says, pen poised over my notes, “first of all we will have to put a temporary expander in to stretch the skin and inflate that gradually. Since we took the implant out your skin has tightened up and…”
“So you’re putting in another Engelbert?” Mum says, looking concerned.
I take her hand. “It’s OK Mum,” I say.
“Did you realise this would be happening?” Mum says.
“No, but it won’t be too bad,” I say, even though I know that it will be painful and horrible.
“So if you make an appointment with my secretary we can get going with that,” he says.
“Can we do it before Christmas?” I say.
“We’ll try to fit you in before Christmas,” he says, throwing me a compassionate glance.
“Thank you,” I say.

It’s progress, I think as we leave his room and walk down the corridor. Even though it’s going to be more long-winded and complicated than I thought: I assumed he’d just put another implant in.
“Let’s go out and have a nice dinner,” Mum says as we join up with Dad and my brother in the waiting room.
So we do.

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