CHAPTER 1
She was invisible.
She’d first noticed that she was fading from view four years ago, about the same time she’d noticed the first gray hairs. The signs were subtle. No heads turning as she walked through the gym. No catcalls or whistles at construction sites. No compliments from then-husband Frank when they got gussied up for some formal affair. Alarms should probably have gone off more frantically in her head, but the changes were so gradual they remained inconspicuous and certainly nonthreatening.
And the gray was easily covered.
But the phenomenon had increased exponentially in an equation of Einsteinian proportion two years ago. E = mc2 plus total loss of breasts equaled total loss of visibility.
Scientific equations could prove how the laws of nature literally make the world go round; no equation could show why her world had been thrown into a tailspin she was still trying to gain control of.
Looking back, it seemed more like a combination of science and magic than science alone. Five hours of surgery and—poof! She’d vanished . . . at least to the male half of the world’s population.
Which is why it came as no surprise to Julia Berkwith that, at that exact moment, it wasn’t one of the male doctors working on her but rather a female nurse who asked the question.
“You doing okay?”
“Fine,” Julia answered, although she wasn’t. The next item on her self-improvement list was to quit saying she was fine when she wasn’t.
Lying flat on her back with her arms stretched out as wide as possible gave the doctors behind the white curtain of sheets plenty of room to work, but they seemed to have forgotten there was a beating heart and strained muscles below the mounds of silicone sacs.
During preparation, when they’d asked if she wanted her arms restrained, she’d promised she could keep them still without the bands. That had been over an hour ago when the surgery was ahead of her and exciting. Now, retaliating because of their awkward position, both arms were snoozing but sending telepathic messages to the muscles in her back and shoulders, demanding they redouble their efforts to bring pain in memory of their sleeping comrades. Adding to her discomfort, the temperature in the OR had been set to morgue, which worried her more than a little.
A white sheet draped from the overhead rod fell to below her chin, blocking off her view and allowing her no audience participation to her own procedure. The sheet started to sag, and now folds gathered in her mouth and nose region. In a normal setting, she would push them out of the way with a flick of the fingers, but she’d promised not to move her arms, so she blew puffs of air at them when suffocation seemed imminent.
An angel of mercy appeared at her head and gave the sheet a quick flick, sending the material away. The ensuing gust of cold air filled Julia’s nostrils with the antiseptic scent she’d grown used to over the past two years.
“They look great.” The young woman’s smile was reassuring, even viewed upside down. “How long since your mastectomy?”
“Two years.” The buzzing started again along with the odd vibration that seemed detached, though Julia knew it was occurring to her body. “Are they tattooing again?”
The nurse nodded. “They’re finishing the second areola. It won’t be too much longer.”
The conversation diverted Julia’s attention from her phantom arms and the frosty operating room. “I never realized how much design work went into building breasts,” she said. “First-stage saline sacs. Injecting solution every two weeks to stretch the skin. Implant surgery. And now this. I could’ve had a house built in this length of time.”
Her companion pulled up a stool and perched beside Julia’s head. “Can you talk about it? The cancer, I mean. I know some people don’t like to.”
Julia shook her head as much as she dared, unwilling to risk jiggling anything that might make the doctors miss and result in a third areola. “I don’t mind. I’ve been told talking about it is therapeutic. Is there something you’d like to know?”
The strange vantage point gave her a clear view of the woman’s neck muscles, and Julia watched them tighten.
Talking about cancer wasn’t a mission she would’ve chosen, nor was it one she totally accepted. But the subject was frightening to women, so guilt gnawed at her if she didn’t answer questions when they asked.
“Did you have chemo?”
There it was—the nearly imperceptible cringe on the last word. Julia had learned to watch for it. Fear of chemo was greater than fear of cancer for many.
“No, I’m one of the fortunate ones.” The badge of guilt she wore pricked her. She’d gotten off easy when others suffered so much. “We caught it early, so no chemo or radiation, and no hair loss. I only lost my breasts.” She never added and my husband, though she always thought it, and ignored the tendril of pain that accompanied the silent admission.
“Well, the reconstruction looks fantastic.” The nurse gave a tug on the cloth shower cap working its way down past Julia’s eyebrows. “How do they feel?”
Julia stifled the shrug that would’ve moved her arms. “Honestly? Like two aliens have taken up residence in my chest.” Her companion grinned. “I have no sensation on the outside. No feeling because of the nerves they cut. Today’s procedure could’ve been done without the numbing shots, I think.” The buzzing stopped, and Julia noted pressure like she was being wiped down. A stronger medicinal scent invaded the area between her and the sheet.
“Sometimes nerves regenerate, though, so don’t give up on that yet.”
Two years and not even a twinge. Regeneration wasn’t going to happen. But nobody touched them anyway, so fretting about it seemed silly.
The nurse started to get up, then hesitated. “I have a biopsy scheduled for Friday.” Her bottom lip, which had curved up earlier, now had teeth dug into it, which still couldn’t control the tremble.
If her arms had been free, Julia would’ve pulled the new member of the sisterhood into a hug. As it was, she could only embrace her with words. “You’re doing the right thing, staying on top of it. Early detection’s the key. We didn’t even know it was in my left breast, too, until the post-op report came back.”
The young woman’s eyes widened. “You were brave, going with the bilateral when you didn’t know for sure.”
“No, honey, I was terrified, so don’t try to make me into a hero. I just didn’t want to live in fear the rest of my life.”
The woman’s chest rose and fell with what Julia hoped was a steadier breath as she tilted her head toward the sheet. “Sounds like they’re getting finished. You’ve done great.” She patted Julia’s cheek before sliding off the stool and scurrying away to take care of some post-op business.
Finished. Fabulous word, that.
Julia’s fingers curled into triumphant fists. She couldn’t clap her hands, but she hadn’t promised not to move her feet. Gleefully, she smacked her big toes together in applause.
As the doctors completed their work, she turned up the volume on the Fond Memories playlist in her mind. Listening to the music had become so habitual, she no longer needed a device—simply switched it on and off at will.
She pressed the rewind button until she was once again in the backseat of her parents’ powder blue convertible, racing down the highway on a summer night. A hot wind slapped her cheeks while a gazillion stars danced in her view, and her voice blended with her mom’s and dad’s and The Crew-Cuts on the cassette player in a rousing rendition of “Sh-Boom.”
Three repeat plays and the doctors were done.
An hour later, she stepped into the sunlight with the playlist Survivor running through her head along with a new mantra:
Invisible