I find it fascinating that I have been unable to find my voice until after treatment. After the crisis has passed.
I was too busy doing. I could not see what was happening.
Now I can see the damage. The scar and indention where the port was over my left breast. The full left breast and the small right breast. My right breast which is now actually the size I like. My right breast that was full of cancer with a large neat scar across the the entire breast, a signature left from the surgeon. My right breast with the mastectomy incision that has split open, the weight of the fat tissue pulling it further apart by the day.
And eyelashes that have grown back and again rub my glasses lenses.
And hair on my head which has grown back quickly and quietly, short but full.
I can see the case of medications that ruled my existence: meds to sleep, meds to control the pain, meds to help you eat, meds to keep you from freaking out.
I can see the bed where I literally lived for days at a time, unable to lift my head let alone get up. The bed where I lay as fluid was pumped into my body to keep me stable.
I can see the hallway where I collapsed when my blood pressure dropped too low.
But I cannot see tomorrow...next week....next month....next year.....