My left breast recently changed its address.
Last Wednesday I had a boobieloptomy. Instead of swinging from its original home on my chest, my breast is now resting in a jar on the shelf of a pathology laboratory somewhere in Thousand Oaks, California.
That’s OK with me, actually. Jerry says boobies exist to catch the guy and feed the babies, and both tasks are behind me now. Add the fact that my breast was trying kill me, and it’s better off than on.
Here’s what’s weird, though. I’m used to looking down and seeing it. From the viewpoint of my eyes, there should be a hill where there is now a vast, flat plain. Unfortunately, the hill used to hide the next hill, which is the roll of fat around my middle. Now, there is no visual camouflage for my spare tire on the left side. I glance south and there it is. A circumferential speed bump where my waist used to live.
I’m constantly chipping away at it with diet and exercise, but with age, the body’s topography irreversibly shifts. The girlish pear becomes a menopausal apple. And now my apple is the first thing I see when I look below, port side.
I expect I’ll get used to it.
“Often times God demonstrates His faithfulness in adversity by providing for us what we need to survive. He does not change our painful circumstances. He sustains us through them.” Charles Stanley