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The water rinses off the suds on my skin. I wish it could wash away my fears as well. I whisper a silent farewell to my body as I know it. The reflection in the mirror might change, but I won’t. I will still be Me.
As I step out of the shower, I make a promise—I’m stronger than this cancer.
Chapter Eight
My eyelids flutter open, and pain hits me like a Mac truck, sudden and everywhere all at once. I suck in a sharp breath, my heart pounding. There’s a moment of disorientation, but it all comes back to me.
I’m in the hospital, in the PACU, post-op.
The fluorescent lights above me buzz and flicker. They’re too bright. Too annoying. I turn my head, and my gaze falls on Noodles.
“Hey.” I force a weak smile onto my face, trying to reassure him.
“Hey yourself,” he responds, trying to keep his voice steady. “How do you feel?”
“How did it go?” I try to shake off the effects of anesthesia, but I can barely think because of the pain.
I try to sit up in the bed, but the world spins. A wave of nausea washes over me.
“No, you don’t.” He tries to get me to lean back. “You should rest.”
I shift my gaze downwards, my heart pounding as I brace myself for the first look. There’s a flatness where my left breast used to be. An emptiness. A void. A testament to what I lost to the scalpel.
My breast, part of what defines me as a woman, is gone. Taken by cancer.
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.
“I love you so much.” Noodles leans over and kisses my forehead. “I will love you to the end of time.” He squeezes my hand as my mind tries to settle.
I’m not alone.
Noodles is here. He’s always by my side.
“The Chick Brigade is here,” he says. “Congregated in the waiting room, waiting for you to get out of recovery. Even the guys are here, and guess what?”
“What?” My mouth feels like cotton. An after-effect of anesthesia?
“We’re working on a special tour to donate all proceeds to breast cancer research.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Now that the guys are married, with a passel of kids to keep all of us on our toes, tours are getting harder and harder.”
“That’s what I said, and they voted me down. It’s going to be epic.”
“That’s wonderful.” Yet again, they astound me. Angel Fire started as a band of five men: Ash, Bent, Bash, Spike, and Noodles. They took their brotherhood and added wives: Skye, Piper, Holly, Angel, and me. We’re all one huge, massive, crazy family, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Days blur into nights and nights into days. Hours become indistinguishable as pain, rest, medication, and more pain become the revolving door of my existence. Noodles never leaves my side, his hand forever entwined with mine. Between the band and the Chick Brigade, there’s always someone by my side.
I’m lucky to have so much support. Each day, despite the pain and shocking emptiness on my chest, I regain my strength. Recover. After discharge from the hospital, time warps strangely.
I’m back at the doctor’s office. It feels like I woke up in recovery only yesterday, disfigured for life. Yet here I am, weeks later, in the comforting familiarity of my OB’s office, listening to the soft echo of my baby’s heartbeat. Each thump is a sweet reassurance and a small victory amidst my personal turmoil.
With her calming presence, Dr. Johnson moves the transducer gently over my belly, her eyes locked on the screen. “Your baby’s doing well. The heartbeat is strong, and growth is on track.”
“That’s good news.” My health, and my baby’s safety, are entwined. We expect news any day about biopsy results from the lymph nodes they took when I lost my left breast.
Fingers crossed, the nodes are clean, and I’m cancer free.
