I’m pissed. I’m also a wide range of other emotions, but I can only handle angry tonight. I’m just a few hours away from my 5:30am check in for another surgery. This time to remove the expanders under my chest muscles and replace them with implants. My older sister is in town to help. I hear her heavy breathing along with the snores of my brother-in-law coming from the living room, where my client and friend Ana lent us an air mattress. A retro teardrop trailer sits in my driveway for my brother Calvin and his wife later this week. The house is packed and I am loved. I know. I’m so glad I’m not alone. Sleep will not come easy tonight I know, however. Having these expanders out tomorrow will be a relief, after a few days of recover, I hope. I have no love for them tonight, though I am curious to see them. I’ve asked my plastic surgeon to save them so I can photograph whatever it is that’s hard as a damn rock keeping me awake all night long for 3 months. My feelings are much more complicated now. I’m even upset that I’m having another surgery. This is on top of the fact that I’ve spend all day trying to get answers to questions I asked last week while two of my doctors were on vacation. Fortunately, one of them called at 8pm tonight to walk me through the thinking on the new treatment plan again. I had to hear it from someone else to know that it’s right in memory and in my notes. I feel like I’ve had to become an MD during this process. I’m scared. I’m frustrated. I’m uncertain. And this equals just feeling pissed. It’s okay to be pissed when you need to be. I don’t have a smile tonight. I miss my own breasts. The ones I could feel. The ones that moved when I turn over on my side at night. I will never feel my breasts again. It doesn’t matter how good they look. That’s sad. Maybe tomorrow I’ll let some of that go. Or maybe I’ll still be pissed.