Archive of a Breast Cancer Survivor
Metallic in My Mouth
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 in to the known 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 floodgates to open wide and vast and articulate, like the tsunami of my being which is simply waiting to be born.