What if this was just one day at a time, the instalment plan of life unfolding and revealing itself. A cheeky wink. A flutter of the eyelids. A seductive suggestion of the excitement of what life has to offer me.
Finding out I had a brain tumor at 31, losing the ability to speak. This wasn't the plan.
To have surgery a year later and learn new words to describe my body; long, clinical words that made my body sound faulty, ill, wrong, different, that wasn't in the script either.
Being in ongoing recovery, I forgot altogether that I was more than stitches and scars. Tumors, tests and tears. What my body is, no one can tell. It is strong - way stronger than I or anyone can give it credit.
The scar from my brain surgery sits on my belly - yes, you read that correctly. Fat that I had spent years rejecting, shaming, abusing, was used in the operation to keep me alive. So, I call it my B-Section: B for brain, B for bravery, but also B for beauty.
I am a woman. My sexuality isn't clinical. I have desires. I have a heart, a love to share, a smile to give. A body to touch. Warmth, lingering on the tips of lips, toes, fingertips. A strength to share. An embrace to hold and be held. My body, this body, well Life, you big flirt - you've got me hook line and sinker.