Top Surgery and The Meaning of Life
Ten days ago, my eyes opened for the first time.
I woke in a hospital bed. I had surgery to bring my heart closer to the surface. Some of us call it top surgery, some call it a bilateral mastectomy. The surgeon removed a layer of insulation, a piece of my armour that I never asked to put on. I came around, raw and bleeding and new. I awoke to find I was in a world where I have everything I’ve ever wanted.
I had a life before this. I remember it. There was a fierce urgency in the weeks before I went into hospital, a need to finish all the unfinished things. I couldn’t picture my life afterwards. I sat with it and moved with it, this intense mobilisation which drove me. I found a calm still place beneath the fear, where I knew I was going to die. It was infinite in size and tasted sweet and fresh as I breathed it.
I woke to find a new spaciousness, my heart accessible and alive, the pulsing of my blood close to the skin. When I hold her in my arms now, there is no separation between us. When I reach out to connect, I’m reaching from the core of me. My new shape fits the space available for me in the world, and from that experience of a perfect fit, I hold myself lightly.
This process of being human is something I am awakening to with gentle curiosity. I am learning the shape of my body and the sense of the space behind my eyes.
The surgeon removed my apology. Under general anaesthetic, he took my shame. There’s no need to hide anymore. Ten days since I began, and in that time I have learned to move cautiously. Every day my boundaries are different. I have learned to move slowly and ask my body for consent. Is this movement ok? Does this hurt? Is it time to rest?
In this softness I have found a friend, my body. We speak to one another. It isn’t a thing you can see, this constant and invisible holding in love and attention. What do you need, now, in this moment? What is it like, to be in this body and in this world?
In every movement I find the aliveness in my skin and reach out to find the aliveness in others. On the most simple and profound level, the only truth is in this meeting. In the seeing and being seen. In feeling the shape of ourselves and reaching out to find the shape of another. In the ways we fit together and the space between us.
In these spaces is the material of the universe. In the flow and movement of things is the dance of being alive. Nothing is static. Life is change and flow. It is the inbreath and outbreath, and the moment of silence in between. The meaning of life is the connection I have with myself, and with others.
I’m quietly watching to see what happens next, in this unfolding.
I’ll let you know.
