The small top left drawer of my dressing table contains a tangled mess of bras and various bits and pieces that go with them, like transparent plastic straps for wearing under a revealing dress (can’t think of the dress I had in mind; never worn), extenders to take account of extra poundage; bras worn when thinner; bras from the early 1990s, hardly worn, not very comfy but too pretty or far back in the drawer to throw out. Whenever I’ve had the luxury, I’ve had separate drawers for the underwear triumvirate: bras, knickers, socks, descending in that order, with that sense of importance. And now, suddenly, no need for the bra drawer. I have a flat chest! There’s nothing there but two angry red stripes! Even when the reconstruction process is complete, my silicone bosom will be a never-sag job. I may never need to wear a bra again. They’re still there, for now – a tangled mess of straps and lace and underwire and comfy options – but when they go, I get a whole empty drawer. I could use that drawer for… hmmm … hankies? Imagine a whole drawer of hankies. I only own two or three cloth hankies. No. Maybe bathers. My three swimming costumes (two too small) could stretch out in a drawer of their own. I know! Pajamas! Pajamas can have their own drawer! For most of my adult life pajamas have been a big old t-shirt and knickers but since my two operations I’ve garnered a full winter set (ovaries out last winter) and a summer set (breasts off this summer).
In the meantime, I still have two drains coming out of my midriff. I’m over them now. Get out of here. Still at least a couple of days’ worth, though. I’m itchy and uncomfortable but feeling good, just wanting to stop being sick person and start being sick enough to keep slouching around at home but not well enough to get out and do anything too taxing. Actually this is a good zone, doing sweet F.A.