Part 1 – Cancer & Plague
Salted wound - Sia
"It's those who are heartbroken who had once been loved."
After Elora's surgery, doubt often plagued her mind as to if she was still a girl or not. Of course she was female, she had the parts down there and Elora had plenty of estrogen but little did the initial reproductive anatomy do to encourage her such things.
It had been one month since her operation yet Elora was still unable to look at herself more than what she could count on one hand as once that part of her was removed, she felt as though she had no identity. Medical reasoning or not, Elora grew ashamed of what had been diminished in a matter of an hour even if it in exchange for her life.
On the odd occasion she did look at her bare skin, Elora leaked tears unwillingly and distorted images of body clouded her vision because little did Elora know, she was seen as a fighter, a survivor, a warrior, not a girl who no longer existed.
Elora shuddered as she ran a tentative fingertip over the skin of her chest. In the place of her previous C's were fresh scars, still warm with the memory of breast cancer. As she exhaled, more tears slipped past her emotional barrier and Elora sobbed once. She prided herself on strength once upon a time but that was before she was diagnosed on a cold Saturday morning. After that she made it habitual to wear an apathetic mask until she was in the comfort of her own bedroom.
Her eyes travelled upwards from the remnants of her breasts to her pale and slender face.
Not only did Elora become flat chested after her surgery but previous treatment caused her to become sick. She not only had to cope with the abstraction of her femininity, Elora had to manage an unpredictable appetite which also scathed 15kgs before and after the operation.
That wasn't where it hurt Elora Wright. Elora couldn't look at herself without thinking of what used to be there and at such a young age she grew wary of her chances to flourish and thrive in a romantic relationship. Who would want to love me now, Elora would often whisper at night when the moon was concealed by clouds and when the stars didn't seem to shine as bright.
Her breasts were her identity and place in the world, believe it or not, and Elora grew anxious each time she was surrounded with beautiful girls her age. She felt as she was the only one missing something. Elora lost what she was meant to nurture her future children with. What was there one day was gone the next and it was nothing short of traumatic. It was hard as nobody could understand her and Elora felt isolated.
Elora moved from the bathroom to her bedroom and scanned the options available to her, laid out on her bed by her sympathetic mother. Bra's with fake filling and padding, lace or patterns, colours or monotone. Elora didn't want to be flat chested but that didn't mean she wanted to feel fake (even if it wasn't). For someone going through a hard time, she remained stubborn and loyal to her values and beliefs and Elora felt like a liar when adorned with fillets of silicon. So instead she picked up a AAA bra and hooked the reminder onto her body, smiling sadly when she saw the two shades of sickly purple; one fabricated and one skin. The colour was yet to fade and the same went for her concern towards it. Her smile dropped as her eyes beheld the blotchy pigmentation for a few more seconds than what would be considered healthy before she slipped on a pale grey top which matched the cloud that seemed to follow Elora. Once she pulled on her newly sized black jeans, she grabbed her bag full of books as well as a parker to wear later. She then left to the place she recently began to feel more enslaved in.
