Frankie

If I were in that space,
I would have a lot of questions. What has made her laugh? How does she stay so positive?
Does she feel positive, or is this just a snapshot of a moment in time?

What does she feel when she stops laughing?

If I were there, I think I would be scared. I remember feeling so exposed, naked,
petrified. But like her, I laughed.
I laughed going down to theatres,
I had waited so long,
to get these time bombs off my chest.

Maybe I would speak to the doctors.
In truth, I would probably avoid them. Perhaps I would speak to other patients, ask them if they were ok,
ask them if they had enough support, whether they felt safe.

After I have been there,
I feel grateful.
Away from the smell of disinfectant,
the cloying musk of hand sanitiser.
Beyond the beep of machines,
escaped from the feeling of itchy hospital gowns,
and sticky plastic mattresses.
Far from the eyes of nurses and doctors,
who are constantly looking,
giving me advice I never asked for

“I don’t like your tattoos”
“You look so much better since I last saw you”

I can’t even remember their names, and yet they have so much to say.

I will leave Alina in her hospital bed,
and hope that her laughter is more than just a snapshot.

I will stay with my hard implants,
my intermittent stabbing pains,
the patches of eczema on my mastectomy scars,

Maybe someday I will no longer realise it. The numbness of sensation,
the pressure when I hug,

or try to lie on my front.

Maybe the fact that I can’t breastfeed won’t feel so hard. Or the fact that I won’t conceive naturally.

Maybe I won’t feel like I have robbed my future child, and my partner,
of some of life’s joys.

Or maybe I will.

Through the tears it’s hard to see the leaves and the fruit. Some days, it is as though the tree is not there at all. On others, it stands tall, leaf by leaf, branch by branch, surging into the sky in a way that is truly magnificent. For a long time, the tree had gone completely. Or maybe it was there, just shrivelled and bare and out of sight. I couldn’t tell you.