It was a miracle. Years and years of painstaking research and work: clinical trials, playing politics and appeasing multiple constituencies. Then, finally, a breakthrough. They were ready to begin the testing phase, but only a select few were chosen for this important, groundbreaking work. Six people would be chosen for stem cell research studies, only six out of a blind population of millions. And, the miracle part, I knew one of the lucky few: my friend Della.

They were just in time as far as I was concerned. In her early 60s by now, Della had been totally blind for about a year and was really getting crabby. Alex and I had long since removed any breakables from her immediate vicinity, particularly after I spent one afternoon in the Emergency Room being sutured. Della apologized, of course, but my flowers never quite recovered from their unplanned trip across the room. No, by the time they were ready for the study to begin I would have driven 2,000 miles in the back of a pickup truck to get her to the hospital. Fortunately, Boston was a medical hub and a short subway ride was the only transportation necessary.

The surgery went smoothly and Della was up and about in no time. They removed her bandages about a week later and we all waited for the magic to unfold. At first, nothing. Then, slowly, Della began to notice a tightness in her eyes, followed by small visual disturbances. Good: we were making progress. Della was hopeful, almost happy. As time went by her field of vision began to expand. She wiggled her fingers beneath her eyes and could see them. She laughed and then she cried. We all cried together, patted Della on the back and raised countess toasts in her honor. I never had so many hangovers in my life, We even poured little shot glasses of Diet Coke for Della. She burped up a storm.

”Well,” her eye doctor said to me one day as we made casual conversation. “Our Della is doing quite well. I’ll bet she must enjoy seeing her reflection in the mirror after all these years!” He was an old-fashioned guy. Of course the first thing a woman would want to see was her reflection in the mirror. Forget the finger wiggling: that was kid stuff. I mentioned that I didn’t think Della had any full length mirrors and wasn’t sure she’d thought to look in them. Perhaps she didn’t want to. After all, who wants to see themselves 10 or more years older? “Nonsense!” The doctor announced and called Della into his office. He wanted to be the first to see the look on Della’s face as she beheld her own image once again. I wasn’t so sure of this strategy, what with no emotional preparation on Della’s part. But, the doctor would have no truck with that and happily marched Della to his full length mirror and then told her to open her eyes in front of it.

Della raised her eye lids slowly and looked. Her mouth dropped open and she just said, “wow!” She looked at her face and rubbed her hand over her hair. She looked at her eyes, sparkling and bright and started to smile. “Wow!” she said again.

Then she looked down.

I think that doctor may still regret his decision. Maybe that’s why he left the country so shortly afterwards, but we’ll never know for sure. In any event, we’re not saying. Della’s gaze went down to her chest and the next thing we heard was her screeching “Oh my God! Oh my God! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!”

Alex and I were on the other side of the office and the doctor had just sat at his desk. In a split second we converged on Della, thinking that something had gone horribly wrong. Had she suddenly gone blind again? Had something else frightened her? Was she alright? “Della!” We cried out in unison. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Della’s answer to this was another ear-piercing “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh! Noooooooooooo!” She stood at the mirror with a look of horror on her face.

I was the first to reach her and I grabbed her arm as she nearly dropped to the floor. She was groaning and clutching her chest in agony. Heart attack? “Della, Della!” I exclaimed. “What’s wrong, sweetie? What’s wrong?”

”Oh God!” she shuddered. “Can’t you see it?”

”See what, sweetheart? See what?”

Then Della told us what was wrong. “My BOOBS!” she screamed.

Huh? I looked over at her in total bafflement. “What? Your what?”

”What happened to them?” she wailed, then started to cry. “And I’m FAT!”

Of course. It finally hit me. Della hadn’t seen herself in years. Not in the mirror and not in any other way, either. She wasn’t 20, or even 40 anymore. She was 62. Our bodies change and the poor woman had been given no chance to prepare herself. “Della, Della,” I tried to calm her down. “Sweetie, it’s okay. You’re not fat! You’re just not 30 years old any more. You’re fine, you’re fine! And your boobs...uh...” That might be a bit more difficult. That woman had a pair on her.

”Oh my God!” she said again. “What the hell happened? How the hell did I get these things? And why are they way down there?” She pointed to her stomach.

I glared at the doctor, now staring sheepishly at the floor and turning various hues of red. “Oh Della, don’t worry about that. It just...happens to some people. You know, breasts sag a bit as we get older.”

”Sag?” Della screeched into my ear. “Sag? For Christ’s sake I look like someone grafted a pair of dachshunds to my chest! When did this happen, Maggie?”

I’d never known Della to be any smaller, but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to mention that. She could see well enough to aim and I was the closest person at hand. I avoided the question and patted her arm. “Now, Della. It’ll be fine, really!” I really hoped the novelty of seeing her reflection would shortly overcome the shock. I took another look at Della’s face - mouth hanging open in surprise - and rather doubted it. “I mean, you can get them reduced if you want.”

“Hmmmmm.” Della looked down at her chest again, then over at the doctor. “Might do that. And after that I might attach the leftovers to somebody else here. Good God, doc, you could have given me an advance warning before moving me over to the mirror! The last time I saw this I had brown hair. I was a size 6, for cryin’ out loud!” She held a breast in each hand. The doctor looked discreetly away. “And these puppies were perky.” She let them fall. “So help me God someone’s walking home bowl-legged tonight and it ain’t Alex.”

“Well, uh, I can recommend a good plastic surgeon,” the eye doctor continued. “Good man. Colleague of mine.”

Della pinned him with another look. “Alex,” she said. “Get on the phone with your buddies at Mass General and find me a plastic surgeon. Make sure it’s no one my eye doctor knows.”

Alex grinned like a pumpkin. “And I know just the person!”

Alex was right. A week later Della and I sat in the office of one Dr. Eleanor Fitzgerald, who looked Della over and just shook her head. “My, my, I’m surprised you don’t tip over when you walk,” she observed. “Actually, I started my career with the same surgery I’ll recommend for you.” Then she looked over at me. “I can schedule you for an enlargement at the same time if you’d like.”

I looked up at the doctor, eyes narrowing as a suspicion crossed my mind. “Did Alex put you up to this?” I asked.

“Oh, no!” she said, too quickly.

Right. Alex was going to be camping out in the back yard for the next week. “Just concentrate on Della. I have other ways of making my husband happy.”

Dr. Fitzgerald opened her mouth to speak. “Not another word,” warned Della. “Or I’ll tie these around your neck.”

The doctor smiled and scheduled Della without delay. “I do very good work,” she said. “Heavens knows, I certainly understand what’s it feels like. The backaches, not being able to sleep on your stomach. It’s really terrible. So,” she said after a moment. “Are we ready?”

Della nodded resolutely and we were off. The surgery went smoothly and Della was up and about in no time. Dr. Fitzgerald had done a good job. Unfortunately, our happy recovery scene was marred by the unexpected visit of Della’s eye doctor, who looked her over disapprovingly. “Hmmmmm,” he observed. “I must say I don’t approve of this kind of thing. Takes the curves right out of a woman.” Della and I both stared at him, wondering which one of us was going to kill him first. Me, probably, since Della was still in bed and recovering her eye sight. I didn’t want her to miss, even if she was taller. “Now, my wife,” he explained. “Could fit a TV dinner tray on her chest. In fact, she often does. Do I think it’s ugly? No. It’s beautiful. It’s the way nature intended. And, nature is doing her job. We have three lovely children and I owe it all to that real estate.” Then he looked over at me and shook his head sadly.”I suppose you’re trying to emulate your short friend here. Now look, friendship should only go so far. If I were you I’d contact your plastic surgeon and reverse the process – maybe even add in some. Believe me, it’s the best thing to do.”

Della glared up at him from her bed, arms comfortably down at her sides for the first time in years. “Oh?” she said. “And you’re the expert on this because…?”

The good doctor smiled and gave us both a patronizing glance. “Now you may think I’m an old fashioned guy, but nature is nature. I don’t have to be an expert. I just have to see how the two genders were created. Really, what could be more obvious?”

I really had enough at that point and ushered the gentleman out of Della’s hospital room. She was scheduled to return home that day so I helped get her to my car. She was fuming and steaming all the way, finally exploding by the time we arrived at her townhouse on Beacon Hill. “I’ll kill that bastard!” she roared. “My God, for the first time in longer than I can remember I’m comfortable. I can see my feet and it’s not just because of the eyesight. I feel normal! What the hell is wrong with that?” She raised her arms menacingly. “Let me get my hands on that son of a bitch. I don’t care what they do to me afterwards.” She exhaled and plopped down loudly on the couch.

“Relax, Della,” wishing there was something I could do. Why did men still think this way? Every girlie magazine I passed showed women with breasts practically off of the magazine cover. We were supposed to enjoy this? What gave? “It’ll be fine.” I gave her a hug, carefully, since she was still a bit tender.

Della looked increasingly upset. She had her pride and the fool had hurt it. I thought for a minute, then an evil thought crossed my mind, warming me to the cockles of my belly. “Oh, yea!” I said, half to myself. “Oh, yes, yes, yes!”

“What?” Della asked.

“Never you mind, my dear,” I said and flipped open my cell phone.

I refused to say anything more about the matter. “Della,” I told her instead, “We need to make up for some lost time. You and I are going on a sightseeing tour and we’re starting right now.”

Della screwed up her face and gave me a familiar look, one that said ‘if I didn’t know better I’d say you were nuts.’ Then she crossed her arms over her greatly reduced frontage and waited. “Yes?” she inquired.

“Never you mind,” I said again. “Just pack.”

We started in Maine, at Acadia National Park. Della’s not a walker or lover of nature per se, but there was something there I wanted her to see. We spent the day browsing shops in Bar Harbor, then stopped at a trendy restaurant for lobster. Then I piled her into the car and drove, only getting out about a half hour later. I reached my arm in and helped her to her feet. She scratched her head. “Maggie,” she said. “What in the name of God are we doing here out in the middle of nowhere?”

I smiled. “Look up,” I said.

The inky sky was filled with stars, so many overhead that I almost felt dizzy. Thousands and thousands of stars blinked in the night, twinkling against the backdrop of evening sky. You couldn’t see this in the city. There were too many lights. You had to go out, away from anybody and a national park was the best way to do it without serious travel to other parts of the world. Della’s mouth dropped open as she looked and then her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, Maggie,” she said. “I had no idea.”

It was an amazing sight, even for me. I felt naked underneath them, so many thousands of stars. I had to look down at the ground before I lost my footing and fell.

We stayed in Maine for a few days, taking in views of the Atlantic as it crashed into the New England coastline. From there we went to New York and caught a few shows. Then we took trip to DC to visit the Smithsonian Museums – more for my sake than for Della’s. Since we were in the neighborhood we spent some time in Baltimore, too. Della wanted to see everything: every crack in the sidewalk, every blade of grass, every shop window, every museum exhibit. As her sight improved so too did her desire to drink in every texture, color and reflection all the rest of us took for granted. Everybody except Della, that is.

We got back a few weeks later. Della thanked me for a wonderful trip, but I said that she wasn’t finished yet. Ed Sheppard had been waiting for her and wanted to take her away for two weeks, just the two of them. He didn’t say where, just winked and got Della onto the back of his Harley. I watched them speed away.

Meanwhile, my plot continued to hatch with my co-conspirator. We had all the pieces in place and our confederates joined in with an unexpected zeal. Things were going exactly as planned. All we needed to do now was to wait for Della and Ed to come back home.

That happened about two weeks later. Della and Ed were tanned and happy looking. “Hey!” Della exclaimed as we sat together at my house after dinner. “Damn, my night vision’s getting good. I couldn’t see a thing before, but now…”

Ed raised his hand, expecting the worse and he got it. “Now, Della…” he started.

“Hot damn! I really like this being able to see who I’m f…”

“Now I’m sure these folks..” Ed stammered but Della was way out in front of him.

“And, you know what? It looked EXACTLY the way I thought it would, just based on the feel you know. And then when I moved down there and started…”

Ed buried his head in his hands. Alex took the opportunity to start coffee and dragged a red-faced Ed into the kitchen with him. “We’ll be right back!” he announced. “Somebody shove an éclair into that woman’s mouth, will ya?”

I shook my head. Men brought out the worst in Della. I wondered how often she and Ed actually made it out of bed. Must have been an interesting two weeks. Alex and Ed returned shortly afterwards and I suggested that Della might want to find another topic of conversation. “Besides,” I told her. “We’re going to have a guest tonight.”

“Oh?” she said, then noticed the look on my face. She gave me another one of those looks. “And you’re not going to tell me, right?”

I grinned and nodded. At that moment, the doorbell rang and a very satisfied Dr. Ellen Fitzgerald waltzed into our living room. She carried something under her arm, wrapped in plastic. “Victory!” she declared.

Alex had a puzzled look on his face. “Excuse me?” he said.

“It worked!” she declared.

“What worked?”

Dr. Fitzgerald took a nearby seat. “A little medical experiment,” she explained. Then she looked over at me. “Actually, it wasn’t even my idea.” She winked and I grinned, ear to ear.

“So, it really worked?” I said.

“What worked?” Alex asked, totally flustered by now.

“Our final present for Della!” Ellen Fitzgerald announced. “And I have to say I’m quite proud of myself.” She took the parcel from underneath her arm, a publication of some kind, and dropped it onto the coffee table.

“Hmmm,” Alex mused. “And you got it published already in the New England Journal of Medicine?”

Dr. Fitzgerald waved her hand dismissively. “No, no!” she exclaimed. “Someplace much better. The National Enquirer!”

We all peered at the article lying face-up on the table: “He’s Got A Pair!” The article blared. Underneath the headline was a picture of Della’s eye doctor, looking extremely nonplussed. “Man boobs extroardinaire!” the caption beneath the picture read. And, yes, there they were: two large protrusions from his chest, barely held in check by a shirt with straining buttons. “They said it couldn’t be done!” The article started, “But this man proved them wrong.”

Della’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding!” she screeched. “How the hell did you do that?”

“Sneaked female hormones into his morning coffee,” she said. “His entire practice went along with it. They thought he was some kind of dick head anyway. Well, now he’s got more than that. All his doctors – who also happen to be my colleagues, and all of whom owe me favors – told him there was nothing they could do. He’s stuck with them.”

Della’s mouth went to her hands. “No!” she exclaimed. “Oh lordy! How long will he have them?”

“Until he learns what it feels like. I even asked a few male friends of mine to give them a squeeze from time to time.”

Alex and Ed took one look at each other and hurriedly left the room. I had a feeling they’d be camping out for a while – and not drinking coffee anytime soon.

Della picked up the paper and gave it another look. “Well, well. You didn’t by any chance figure out how to make a man pregnant, have you?”

“Still working on that. I’ll let you know if there are any breakthroughs on that front.”

“You know, though, Della,” I observed. “You may never see Ed again. For that matter, I may never see my husband again either. They’ll probably both go on diets and start working out at the gym.”

Della nodded and shrugged. “Well,” she said. “We’ll just have to say we lost them both to science.”

“Works for me,” I said. “Anybody want coffee?”

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