Is 10 my lucky number?

I'll never be a perfect 10 (ha). But 10 might be my lucky number.

I'm just back from the new plastic surgeon's office. Dr. Isac at the PolyClinic was very professional, highly recommended, and spoke kindly and rationally to me.

Surgery number 9 is scheduled for May 14. He will be removing my implants, disconnecting a muscle, tweaking, and placing a different kind of tissue expander on both sides.

Surgery number 10 is scheduled for October some time (date TBD), to remove the tissue expanders and place "permanent" implants.

It makes me feel like throwing up - literally - to be planning TWO more surgeries. Just when I think I've made progress, just when I think I can handle one more surgery, I'm being asked to have TWO.

Lately, it seems like whatever I'm willing and able to give, I'm asked to give double. This is sometimes more than I think that I can bear. But of course I can bear it, because I must. I don't see myself as having a lot of choice in the matter.

Now, I can hear the counter argument, "Of course you have a choice! These surgeries are elective! Stop while you're ahead! In clothes it's not noticable! It's not like you're a swimsuit model!"

I know. I know, I know, I know. But here's the thing. From the very beginning, I told Tessa, "It's okay, honey. One day the doctors will build me a new nipple." I have clung to that idea, and so has she. I have built it up to be a symbol of my healing. No nipples? Not done. It's simplistic, maybe even childish, but while I see my chest as deformed as it is, I see myself as a cancer patient. I feel like I need to do this to get it behind me.