My friend Monique Gale has rewritten the lyrics to that old 80's classic 'Putting on the Ritz'. Her version involves macabre surgeons 'chopping up the bits'. It's brilliant and it's got me thinking.
How much of me would they have to cut off before I wasn't me anymore? How much of your body could you afford to lose before your sense of self and identity was irrevocably changed? Remember the guys at school who complained if you tried to move their super-gelled hair? How would they go losing a leg?
I'm feeling pretty ok about losing a boob. But I do feel weird about saying goodbye to a part of my body that's been with me for a long time.
Functionally I'll eventually be completely restored; cosmetically I'll be scarred in the nude, but totally hot (as always:))with clothes on.
I aspire to the gallantry of Monty Python's Black Knight.
'Tis but a scratch'
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1 comment:
Hey Sacha, I can shave my hair off for the party, know one told me but I know I looked hot last time I did it. Cheers to new beginnings and thanks for sharing your journey x
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