"Want to find out?" I gave him a saucy grin, wiggling my eyebrows and making him laugh once more.
I've been FaceTiming Tess every single day since I woke up in the hospital. She told me that Callum had called her and explained everything, and that while it wasn't the way she wanted to talk to him the first time, she wholeheartedly approves, especially after he kept his word about the 30-minute updates and the detail he went into with them. "That man really loves you, Soph."
Good, because I really love him too.
Another good news about my hospital stay is that Tess was able to parlay it into outprocessing a lot sooner than she thought she'd be able to. Her retirement will begin in early February, and she'll be able to be here for my radiation treatment and some of my surgery recovery.
Thankfully, at my last appointment, my oncologist, Dr. Rajab, told me that, despite my hospital stay, everything else looks good. By some miracle, and because they want to get the surgery done ASAP, they will only need to push it back a week.
So, last week, I completed my chemotherapy. Callum had smiled at me behind his mask and taken a video as I rang the bell, signalling that the chemo journey was over. Honestly, I felt a little bittersweet about not seeing Nurse Patti on the regular anymore, but she had told me—ordered, more like—to come back and visit.
The day after I completed my chemo, I ordered pizzas for the entire floor of nurses, as I promised myself that I would take care of those who took care of me. I would take nothing for granted and give back where I could.
Now we are in the waiting game. My surgery date is set—December 30—looks like I'm going to ring in the new year with some new boobs.
Well, kind of.
They'll remove my breast tissue—all of it—before they put in the expanders for the implants. The loss of my natural breasts issomething I've gradually come to terms with.
It still hurts to think about it, though.
There's a link between femininity and our breasts.
Most women want larger breasts to feel better about their self-image, to feel more feminine and desired. Now facing the prospect of losing them, I once worried that I would lose a major link to feeling feminine, to feeling desired, to feeling like a whole woman, especially after Paul told me that losing them would be a problem for him.
But when I think about it, especially after reshaping my life into something I never knew could even exist. Making new friends, building my little family, and falling deep in love with the greatest man I've ever known—I want to live.
So, if my breasts are the sacrifice for that, then so be it.
And then Callum's words eclipse the cruelty that Paul told me, so much so that the burn from them doesn't even register.
"Your breasts are phenomenal, just like every inch of you. But they don't make you who you are. They're a part of you, but they're not you. Also, I do have a bone to pick with them since they're literally trying to kill you right now, so I say take them away."
"You're still my Sophie. My sweet, sweet Sophie. I just want you—in whatever shape you're in. With hair, without hair, without breasts, with them... when you're old and gray, and I am too, and we laugh so hard our dentures fly right out of our mouths."
Callum has seen me at my worst and stayed. And I have complete faith that he will still stay, still show up for me, no matter what. I believe that wholeheartedly.
So, goodbye to my breasts.
Fuck youfor trying to kill me.
But also,thank youfor putting me on this new path.
To Callum. To happiness. To my family.
To Love.
???
After dinner, Maeve bundles herself up and goes up to the roof to meditate, and Callum and I cuddle on the couch watchingHow the Grinch Stole Christmas—the Jim Carrey version, of course.
But something is off.
Everything seems normal with our usual movie night routine—lights are dimmed, candles lit, and both of us cuddled under a soft throw blanket after we ate takeout. But Callum is quiet, not really laughing at the movie or laughing delayed because he realizes I'm laughing. When I glance over to him, I see that his eyes are glazed over. He's distracted, and I hate the anxious twisting in my belly from it. I don't want us to ever sit in our anxieties and fears. I learned that from my last relationship.
Taking a deep breath, I grab the remote and pause the movie. "What's going on, my otter?"
He looks at me for a long moment before saying, "I want to talk to you about something."
