He gave me permission to cry

He gave me permission to cry, beautiful brown eyes above his surgical mask and lyrical Indian accent behind it.  He took my hands and introduced himself as Dr. Gemignani’s fellow.  Until then I’d not cried at all about having breast cancer.  But as I lay on the operating table with beautiful eyes telling me its ok to be scared the tears started to flow.  A day later he stopped in my room, without the mask that had hid his brilliant smile, and asked me if I remembered him.  I couldn’t tell him that I’d never forget him.

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2 Responses to He gave me permission to cry

  1. I am a 5 year BC survivor, I am reading your blog and am so impressed with your take on all of this. It was so hard and so much of what you write is so spot on. this is honestly the best therapy. keep it up, you will be so happy you did. Not sure why I never did this when i was going through treatment, but bravo for you. Such good stuff here…hang in there, this is only a small blip on your life radar, and the hair…oh yeah that was a tough one had the same long hair myself. but the good news is it all comes back and quickly after your last chemo! FIGHT on you are a survivor and a warrior! Healing hugs- Trish

  2. Trish, Thanks so much for you kind words and good wishes. Sorry to hear that you also went through it – but happy that you are now a survivor. Yeah, you! I read your comment while I was getting my infusion today (my 3rd ) and it made my crappy day much, much better. Your photos are stunning. Congratulations on being Freshly Pressed. I hope it shines a light on your photography, and your witty writing. Finally, our dog’s occasional delicacy: litter-encrusted cat poop. Reading about you scraping cement-like mud from Bodhe’s palate reminded me of extracting feces-glued litter from between Ralphie’s teeth. And he wonders why I don’t let him lick my face. Linda

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