I looked at the incision. To do that I rolled down the camisole and the Ace bandage. There is still some curve to my breast. How much is swelling, I don’t know. There are angry stitches on the edge by my underarm and sunken-in stitches about three-fourths of the way across the breast, making the breast look smooshed in, like it’s been in an accident. It hasn’t been; it’s been in an on-purpose. Not as horrible as I thought. I put the bandage back on and then replaced some gauze as protection, between the skin and the mastectomy camisole.
Not much later I was measuring the amount of blood in the bulbs and then put them back in place. I turned to leave the bathroom, then walked right into the outer edge of the door, leading with my right shoulder. For some reason my left underarm felt pulled and burned. I was afraid that a tube had dislodged. The feeling went away in a few minutes. It reminded me that I underwent major surgery two days ago. I have to be careful.
I just decided to call it my Soviet camisole; it’s unlovely and utilitarian and looks like it was designed by a committee way way before Perestroika.
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