I
continue to hear how easy the first two weeks of chemo are to the body. How
forgiving. How the metallic taste in my mouth is only the beginning. The undulating
currents of my stomach have yet to give to the unknown flavors of past, present
and future. I wait anxiously like a child sitting too close to the edge. I
press my toes against the floor knowing there is more to come, a rumble, so
deep, I can only pretend to know its power. And with that said I say I am
afraid. I am afraid of the rumble and the undertow. I am attempting to go
about my day possessing bravado when women chemo-saints tell me to expect
more. And like that good student I listen to these women warriors from chemo
past, and as a student of the future, I gasp with anticipation for the flooding
gates to open wide, vast and articulate like the tsunami of my being which
is simply waiting to be born.
