How I got to here
Days before our second anniversary, I learned I had breast cancer. Within months, I lost my hair, my eyelashes, everything that made me beautiful.
On Valentine's Day, we sat in front of the fire until I could smell plastic burn on the back of my wig. I couldn't taste the chocolate or drink the wine, but he seemed happy, eating shrimp and being together. He called me Lady Beautiful, but I thought he was just humouring me. It made me feel worse.
I didn't want him to see me like that, helpless and weak. The chemo fog descended and I couldn't get my words right or my thoughts clear. I felt stupid. I felt ugly. Most of all, I felt guilty.
"I'm so sorry," I said. "This is not what you signed up for."
"That may be true," he said. "But neither did you."
Now we sit in bed watching TV every night. My favourite fashion show is on and he turns to me. "This is the perfect date," he says.
I laugh, thinking he is teasing me as he rubs my aching legs. but when I look at his face, he is smiling, his attention already back on the screen.
And I realize that he was the one who did the bait and switch. He made me believe that he responded to my strength and beauty, so I felt strong and beautiful. Maybe this was never the romance I imagine. Maybe I was the shallow one. He saw more. As we sit in bed and watch the beautiful women, I am not jealous. He still thinks I am one of them.
All I have to do is breathe.
Beautiful :)
Read the full article here.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment