Forgetfulness and the agony of fake breasts

I probably shouldn’t write this. Blame the absinthe, right? Of course, I’m kidding. Proceed.

I had a friend. She was beautiful but she wanted to be something different. A deal struck with a relative that traded superb grades for surgery landed her in bed, chest wrapped in bandages, changed. 

I hadn’t thought of her until recently when I sat across from a stunning creature who, in a fit of ridiculousness, apologized for her lack of bosom. She mentioned implants.

I was pissed. And I was sad. As somebody who isn’t at all second glance-able in the looks department, perhaps my umbrage was unfounded and uncalled for. But I looked at her and I said, “let me tell you what it’s like to get implants.”

And I did.

I told her about how I’d sat next to my friend and held her hand as every breath she took shook her little frame with pain. Her pain tolerance was high but so was her resistance to pain medication. So there she lay, awash in agony, barely occupying a big bed on the second floor of a stunning farmhouse in the country. 

It was perhaps 15 hours after leaving surgery that the screams began. Her body had realized what was happening and as nerve endings registered WTF?!?’s regret rolled in. 

“Please,” she screamed, “please take them out. Please take the pain away. Oh, God! Please take them out!”

But there was to be none of that.

Three months later I was waiting for her to finish getting ready for a night out. Her ex was playing at a local club and she wanted to make an appearance, just to bother him. “Is this too slutty? I should probably wear a bra, yeah?” She said, walking into the kitchen in jeans and a tank top. She’d forgotten about the pain. 

We forget about the pain. That’s the truth.

Hold to that inasmuch as it’s possible when you’re thrashing about, pleading for it all to be over. We forget about the pain and it’s such an amazing thing to behold after the fact. We forget and we move on. All except for the few who remember and wonder and conjure those memories into moments when, for a split second, there’s a chance to show another just how beautiful they really are. 

Cling to what’s good. Stay blessed.