At that moment, I felt like a freak. As I stared in the mirror, I felt my eyes begin to water. I felt disfigured and ashamed. But I cut the pity party short. I had survived a life-threatening experience, and these were the scars I had to show for it. I needed to move on.
It's hard not to fall in love with a man who draws on your body in black Sharpie pen as if you are a priceless canvas, and crafts you a new breast from the cancerous wreckage of your original one.