42, breast cancer and leukaemia

Dreams

Redefining my sexual self
At thirty-five and without my breasts,
Is as painful and deep as the incisions
themselves.

At first, in erogenous space
Sensations persist,
Like the phantom ache of an absent limb,
And I wake, crying,
From dreams of babies' mouths,
Of breasts and being whole.

With time
The tide of grief washes me,
The longing dulls,
Memory fades.

Breast reconstruction replaces the shape
I look good and feel whole
And the sadness,
Remaining forever,
Is small among the joys of my life.

An extract from Butterfly by Pamela Baber.
Published by Pan Macmillan.