Archive of a Breast Cancer Survivor
When one thinks of coming out of an anesthetic sleep one would suspect it
would be like driving through a thick fog on a dark road to come out the other
end towards a light that would lead you home safely. But that is a lie. Coming
out of anesthesia is nothing of the sort. I remember some movement and a
clunk. I remember voices thicker than ether. I remember myself gagging and
dry heaving and thinking that my insides where coming out, but nothing came
out. Just the empty air of my own body rising and falling. Then that woozy
ether voice said, “She will be fine now.” Fine. She will be fine? She will pull
back her gown and inspect the missing breast inflated by some temporary
balloon. Fine. Adj. 1: superior to the average; “in fine spirits”; “a fine student”; “made good grades”; “morale was good”; “had good weather for the parade”.
She is more than fine. In days she will be ready for the parade, with her beautiful feathered hat, lovely in a pink dress with shoes anyone would envy? Fine. Really.