Monday PM, Nov. 19, 2012
When I stepped out of the shower, I approached the mirror to dry my hair. I was not ready for it. The pain had eased and I had forgotten. I had been busy for several days with holiday preparations. I had a bunch of emotional stuff going on over the weekend. I had just plain forgotten, difficult as that is to believe.
I carefully wiped the fog from the glass, cleaning as I went, not paying any attention to the image I was uncovering. I hung up my towel, taking time to neatly mate the corners, tugging the edges into a perfect rectangle. I pulled my brush from its place in the drawer. When I turned back toward the mirror I was confronted with the marks left behind by the needle aspiration I endured this past Friday. They appeared overnight. I had a puncture wound since the test but this … I had not been expecting it.
I suddenly remembered I was waiting to find out, finally and decisively, if I have breast cancer. I stood there looking at my damaged breast. I stood there wondering if I was going to keep this breast. I have often joked that I wish they were attached with velcro so that I might take them off if they are in the way. Suddenly, removing one, even joking about removing one, was unthinkable.
It took me a few moments to recover, my brush forgotten in my hand. I wanted to talk to someone. I wanted to understand why these marks were so different from others that I had happily displayed. These were not from play. These marks are either the beginning of a battle for my life or the end of what has seemed to be an interminable path. I went through pain to get them. Why do they not hold the same Badge of Honor status?