Sensation, paralysis, mastectomies.

When my disabled son was born, and for many years afterwards, I would massage his legs and feet. I still do, sometimes.

He has no movement or sensation there. His sensation is spotty in his thighs, and decreases to nothing from his knees downward. But I massaged anyway, tenderly, with so much love and intention, as though telling his legs how much I love them, and, more than a little bit, hoping I could will some life into them.

But he never felt that. He couldn't feel it, and also, I was doing something he couldn't feel. I realize more recently that I was doing it for myself. All my tenderness and comfort was all about making myself feel better. There was not much giving going on there. I should have hugged him more, or massaged his back. But instead I focussed on my loss instead of his needs.

For three weeks now I've been living with the reality of an impending mastectomy. I knew there was no surgery that could make it look "right," but also, I've been thinking through ideas of body image, society's "normal, and my own relationship my body, gender, and society, for so many years now. If there was every a good time in my life to deal with such a drastic change in my body, it's now. I can do that.

When I thought about the impending loss, although I won't pretend I'm too body-positive and don't-give-a-shit what society thinks to have any insecurities about my appearance (98% about being naked around my partner), the majority of my grief over it is around my sensation.

I knew it would not be normal and there would be a major loss there. The doctor I spoke to yesterday confirmed, and was very clear about the different reactions some women have; the different ways they describe this loss. Like a gap in their torso.

So I think about hugging my children close to me and what that might be like soon. I think about how much I enjoy it now. And the feel of fabric and warmth. I think about this much more than how I'll look in clothes.

Bodies touching each other, skin to skin, is one of my favorite parts of sex-slash-cuddling. I've described this closeness as though one's soul pushes out through their pores to the other, and wraps around them. It's part of reaching out for this closeness that, actually, you can't have in this world, with physical bodies in the way. But using your body to get so close - that's what we have while we're here.

Will I know if she puts her hand on my heart? Will it comfort me if she does?