the surgery

The cocktail of tests, evaluations, and doctor visits that I went through in 2008 led to one conclusion, I needed this surgery. Of course, my body had already reached that conclusion long before. My breasts were causing back pain that my body would not be able to withstand in the years to come. And although it was technically plastic surgery, for all my life it’s simply been “the surgery.” The doctors I frequented were never in a peanut gallery together, deciding my medical fate. They sent each other paperwork to sign in approval for the surgery.

There’s many small moments of this bigger moment, with the players that were around that season, the: psychologists, gynecologists, endocrinologists, and lab technicians. My mom prepped me as much as she could for what would be coming, and her prepping was most present once I needed an ultrasound. She explained I couldn’t stop drinking water. I needed to sit in the waiting room, always drinking, getting myself to the brink of needing relief. "You’ll feel desperate, that’s how we will know we can start the ultrasound." But my body stayed calm, while I knew I needed relief the nurse and my mom kept telling me it was not enough. When asked if I needed to pee, all I could respond with was, “well yeah.”

It felt strange being questioned about this. First my hormones, and now my bladder. Science is science, but I was also a pubescent girl who has in no way stabilized her growth. It felt as if my body was running too far ahead while I was simply trying to train to withstand the marathon of life.