Planning the Service

Not mine, silly. I’m not dead. Who the hell do you think is writing this thing?

But.

It’s time to call it.

Time of death 12/21/23 9:06 PM

The thing I feared and fretted over. It happened. The nipple died.

Truth be told, it had died at least a week prior. The doctor told me, but I wasn’t ready to let go. I kept it on life support for as long as I could. The poor thing was nothing but a hard, brown scab that had been trying to detach itself from me for quite some time.

I don’t have much sensation in my left breast, so I was petrified of peeling off the remnants of my poor little nipple. What if it’s really on there and I rip it off and just can’t feel it? What if I do real damage to the tissue beneath? My poor breast has been traumatized enough without me wrecklessly wreaking havoc, unknowingly. You hear all the time about children born without the ability to feel pain and they’re constantly being careless, breaking bones and hurting themselves without knowing it. Ok – maybe you don’t hear about that all the time…but I heard it once and now I worry that I could be in that same boat.

But one night while getting ready for bed I caught sight of the poor thing and realized it was time to let go. It was barely hanging on. Time to pull the plug and end its suffering.

And as I unceremoniously dropped the scab into the trash can, part of me wanted to dig it back out. Should I keep it? Is that creepy? I felt like keeping a dead nipple was really just a gateway to odd obsessions like saving toenail clippings. I may be weird, but I’d like to think I’m not creepy.

So, maybe I should plan a funeral instead. I mean, I’d already written and teased about it. Maybe I should do it. I know I'm not the first person to lose a nipple, but I’m sure I’d be the first person to ever plan a service for it. There would probably be press, pomp and fanfare. Finally, something I do would go viral!

The thought of what that would actually look like (and the expressions on people’s faces) made me laugh. The thought of how far I could take that scenario and get away with it because…you know…cancer. Anyway, my evil little mind (yes, Pinky, we WILL take over the world!) felt a bit lighter after plotting a bit.

But. That damn thing was still in the trash can. Haunting me.

And now I feel like I’m in a Dickens novel. “She was haunted by the ghost of nipples passed.”

Luckily, I’m also aware that there is still one nipple in the present and possibly one in the future. When the plastic surgeon told me the nipple had died, he did his best to reassure me.

“It’s ok. When the time comes, I can make you a new nipple!” he said cheerfully.

I'm filing that one under 'weirdest things men have ever said to me'. Oddly, that one’s not even in the top ten. But still. Kinda strange to hear.

Also strange is that it WAS actually reassuring.

And so, to ease my poor mind about the death and the hauntings, I have said my final goodbye and taken out the trash.

Things that no longer serve me that I will not be carrying with me into the New Year? My poor dead nipple. It served me well for 49 years. It will be remembered fondly.

Here’s to 2024 and new beginnings!