Eight weeks ago I had a unilateral mastectomy after being diagnosed with breast cancer last December. My plastic surgeon used fat tissue from both of my inner thighs to reconstruct my breast. Tonight was the first night I went out in short shorts since my surgery without bandages or a compression garment. The majority of the scars on my thighs were exposed for the first time. They're only visible from the back so if I pass a guy and he goes to check out my ass he sees these two purple, pink, and blue lines going from under my shorts to half way down my thigh. Now this piece of ass he was checking out is all of the sudden human. ‘Something happened to her. I don't know what it is, but she has large, visible scars.’ Suddenly, that piece of ass is something more than that. All of the sudden she's a person, a human being. If my scars can help remind people that humans are more than body parts and that we all have a hidden story, then I don't mind showing them off, especially during a time in this country's history when many are forgetting what it means to be a human being. In fact, it makes me want to flaunt them more.
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