My last breast reconstruction was a seminar on circulation. Several times a day, the nurses would come in with dopplers and listen. My heartbeat sounds crisp, like someone biting into an apple. The venous pulse in my tissue flaps hit the same beat, but vaguely, a brush on the drums. The arterial pulse sounded like the wind circling the top of a hill. These are the sounds of everything going wrong. I went home flat…

Nicole Nolan last wrote about scrubbing in on a penis implant. The first plastic surgery operation I saw was breast implants. Our patient was young, pretty, twenty-six. She had recently lost about a hundred and fifty pounds, and consequently went from an E cup down to a C cup, and she wanted her old breast size back. She had paid up front for the operation—six thousand dollars, in cash. “This lady is already paid,”…

I loved jump rope games: Lizzie Borden, Ice Cream Sundae, Cinderella (and what part of her fellow was she kissing that she made a mistake and kissed a snake instead?) My sister and I skipped all afternoon, chanting and challenging each other, until I was in fifth grade. That’s when someone in my class first called me “Melons.” The other kids thought it was hilarious, and can I blame them? My name’s Melanie and I…