It was only a few weeks after my surgery, and I went to Dr. Belt's office for a checkup, just after my first chemotherapy treatment.
My scar was still very tender, and my arm was numb underneath. This whole set of unique and weird sensations was like having a new roommate to share the two-bedroom apartment formerly known as my breasts.
As usual, I was taken to an examination room to have my blood drawn – a terrifying process for me, as I'm frightened of needles. I lay down on the table. I'd worn a big plaid flannel shirt over a camisole – a carefully thought-out costume. The plaid camouflaged my new chest, the camisole protected it, and the shirt buttons allowed for easy medical access.
Ramona entered. Her warm, sparkling smile stood out against my fears. I'd seen her weeks earlier, laughing in deep, rich tones. Back then, I'd decided she wasn't serious enough and wanted a different nurse. I was wrong.
This day was different. Ramona had taken my blood before. Knowing my fear, she kindly hid the needle paraphernalia under a magazine. As we opened my shirt, the catheter and fresh scar were exposed.
"How is your scar healing?" she asked.
"I think pretty well. I wash around it gently each day," I replied, the memory of shower water hitting my numb chest flashing across my mind.
She gently reached over and ran her hand across the scar, examining the healing skin. I began to cry quietly. She looked into my eyes and said, "You haven't touched it yet, have you?"
"No."
This wonderful woman laid the palm of her golden-brown hand on my pale chest and held it there. For a long time. I continued to cry. In soft tones, she said, "This is part of your body. This is you. It's okay to touch it." But I couldn't. So she touched it for me – the scar, the healing wound. And beneath it, she touched my heart.
Then Ramona said, "I'll hold your hand while you touch it." She placed her hand next to mine, and we were both quiet. That was her gift to me.
That night, as I lay down to sleep, I gently placed my hand on my chest and left it there until I dozed off. I knew I wasn't alone. Metaphorically speaking, we were all in bed together: my breast, my chest, Ramona's gift, and me.