English Original
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.
中文翻译
那是我手术后才几周，第一次化疗刚结束，我去贝尔特医生的诊所复查。
我的伤疤仍然很脆弱，手臂下方是麻木的。这一系列独特而怪异的感觉，就像有了一个新室友，来分享这个曾经被称为我双乳的两居室公寓。
和往常一样，我被带进检查室抽血——这对我来说是个可怕的过程，因为我害怕针头。我躺在检查台上。我穿了一件大格纹法兰绒衬衫，里面是一件吊带衫——这是一套精心设计的“服装”。格纹伪装了我新的胸部，吊带衫保护着它，衬衫的纽扣则方便医疗操作。
拉蒙娜进来了。她温暖、闪亮的笑容在我的恐惧中格外突出。几周前我见过她，她当时正用深沉、饱满的音调笑着。那时，我断定她不够严肃，想换一个护士。我错了。
今天不同。拉蒙娜以前给我抽过血。她知道我的恐惧，体贴地把针具藏在了一本杂志下面，杂志封面上是一张明亮的蓝色厨房装修图。当我们解开我的衬衫，胸部的导管和新鲜的伤疤露了出来。
“你的伤疤愈合得怎么样？”她问。
“我觉得挺好的。我每天轻轻地清洗它周围，”我回答着，淋浴水打在麻木胸膛上的记忆在脑海中闪过。
她轻轻地伸出手，用手指抚过伤疤，检查愈合皮肤的平滑度。我开始静静地哭泣。她温暖的目光看向我的眼睛，说：“你还没碰过它，是吗？”
“没有。”
这位美好而温暖的女人将她金棕色的手掌放在我苍白的胸膛上，轻轻地按在那里。很久很久。我继续安静地哭泣。她用柔和的语调说：“这是你身体的一部分。这就是你。触摸它没关系的。”但我做不到。于是她替我触摸了它——那道伤疤，那个正在愈合的伤口。而在它之下，她触动了我的心。
然后拉蒙娜说：“你触摸它的时候，我会握着你的手。”她把她的手放在我的手旁边，我们都安静下来。这就是拉蒙娜给我的礼物。
那天晚上，当我躺下睡觉时，我轻轻地把手放在胸前，就那样放着，直到我打盹睡着。我知道我并不孤单。隐喻地说，我们都一起躺在床上：我的乳房，我的胸膛，拉蒙娜的礼物，还有我。