◎ Betty Aboussie Ellis

It was only a few weeks after my surgery, and I went to Dr. Belt’s office for a checkup. It was just after my first chemotherapy treatment.

My scar was still very tender. My arm was numb underneath. This whole set of unique and weird sensations was like having a new roommate to share the two-bedroom apartment formerly known as my breasts——now lovingly known as “the breast and the chest”.

As usual, I was taken to an examination room to have my blood drawn, again——a terrifying process for me, since I’m so frightened of needles.

I lay down on the examining table. I’d worn a big plaid flannel shirt and a camisole underneath. It was a carefully thought out costume that I hoped others would regard as a casual wardrobe choice. The plaid camouflaged my new chest, the camisole protected it and the buttons on the shirt made for easy medical access.

Ramona entered the room. Her warm sparkling smile was familiar, and stood out in contrast to my fears. I’d first seen her in the office a few weeks earlier. She wasn’t my nurse on that day, but I remember her because she was laughing. She laughed in deep, round and rich tones. I remember wondering what could be so funny behind that medical door. What could she possibly find to laugh about at a time like this? So I decided she wasn’t serious enough about the whole thing and that I would try to find a nurse who was. But I was wrong.

This day was different. Ramona had taken my blood before. She knew about my fear of needles, and she kindly hid the paraphernalia under a magazine with a bright blue picture of a kitchen being remodeled. As we opened the blouse and dropped the camisole, the catheter on my breast was exposed and the fresh scar on my chest could be seen.

She said, “How is your scar healing?”

I said, “I think pretty well. I wash around it gently each day.” The memory of the shower water hitting my numb chest flashed across my face.

She gently reached over and ran her hand across the scar, examining the smoothness of the healing skin and looking for any irregularities. I began to cry gently and quietly. She brought her warm eyes to mine and said, “You haven’t touched it yet, have you?” And I said, “No.”

So this wonderful, warm woman laid the palm of her golden brown hand on my pale chest and she gently held it there. For a long time, I continued to cry quietly. In soft tones she said, “This is part of your body. This is you. It’s okay to touch it.” But I couldn’t. So she touched it for me. The scar. The healing wound. And beneath it, she touched my heart.

Then Ramona said, “I’ll hold your hand while you touch it.” So she placed her hand next to mine, and we both were quiet. That was the gift that Ramona gave me.

That night as I lay down to sleep, I gently placed my hand on my chest, and I left it there until I dozed off. I knew I wasn’t alone. We were all in bed together, metaphorically speaking, my breast, my chest, Ramona’s gift and me.

手术后的几个礼拜，我去贝尔特医生的诊所去复查。这件事就发生在我第一次化疗之后。

我的伤口刚刚恢复。胳膊还有些麻木。这种奇特怪异的感觉就像是和一个新室友分享一套两居室一样，以前的房客是两个乳房，而现在则是“乳房和胸膛”。

和通常一样，我被带到化验室抽血，因为我很怕打针，所以这对我而言又是一次恐怖的经历。

我躺在检验台上。身上穿着宽大的毛呢法兰绒衬衣和一件贴心小背心。这身穿着是我精挑细选的，但我希望别人把它看成是随意的着装。宽大的毛呢能掩盖我未痊愈的残缺胸部，而小背心内衣又起到保护作用，这种带纽扣的衬衣也能方便检查伤口。

蕾梦娜走进房间。她那温暖灿烂的熟悉的笑容，与我的恐惧形成了鲜明对比。几周之前我在办公室里第一次见到她，那天她并不是负责护理我的护士，我之所以记得她是因为她那夸张的大笑。那种笑声低沉而浑厚、连续而热烈。我记得自己当时还在想，这扇医疗办公室的门后是什么东西如此有趣。像这种时候，她能找到什么东西让她笑成这样？所以我认为她对所有的事儿都不够严肃，于是我就想看看她是谁。但是，我错了。

今天不一样。蕾梦娜以前给我抽过血。她知道我怕针，所以她很好心地把抽血用具藏在一本杂志下面，杂志的封面上有一幅亮蓝色的新装修的厨房照片。当我解开衬衣，拉下背心时，我乳房上的导管露了出来，胸部上的疤痕也清晰可见。

她问我：“伤口愈合得怎么样了？”

我回答：“我觉得很好。每天我都轻轻地清洗伤口周围。”这时，洗澡水冲洗我麻木胸部的画面闪过我的眼前。

她轻柔地伸出手，抚过我的伤疤，检查皮肤的愈合程度，同时看看有无异常。我开始轻轻小声地哭泣。她用关心的眼神看着我说：“你并没有碰过它,对吗？”我答，“嗯。”

于是这位善良热情的女人将自己金棕色的手掌放在我苍白的胸脯上，轻轻地握住那里。我小声地哭了很久，一直没有停止啜泣。她温柔地说：“这是你身体的一部分。这就是你自己。摸一摸它，不会有事的。”但我还是不敢。于是她就那样替我抚摸着它。那个伤疤，那个正在愈合的伤口。而在那下面，她抚摸到的是我的心。

然后蕾梦娜说：“我会一直握着你的手，去抚摸到它。”于是她把手放在我的手边，我们两个都安静下来。这就是蕾梦娜送给我的礼物。

那晚我躺下睡觉时，我小心地把手放在胸部上，直到我打起盹来。我知道我并不孤单。我们都躺在床上——我的乳房，胸部，蕾梦娜的礼物，还有我。