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.

手术过后没多久，我到贝尔特医生那里去复查。这时我刚刚结束第一个疗程的化疗。

伤口依然很疼，胳膊麻木而没有感觉。同时在心里则产生了一种种奇特的感觉，就像是一套两居室的公寓换了主人一样，以前的房客是两个乳房，而现在则是“乳房和胸膛。”

像往常一样，我被带到化验室抽血，这对我又是一次考验，我很怕打针。

我躺到检验台上。身上穿着宽大的彩格呢法兰绒衬衫和贴身小背心，对于这套精心挑选的服饰，我却希望在外人看来是种随意的便装。宽大的衬衫掩饰了我残缺的乳房，而小背心又很好地保护了它，同时这种带纽扣的衬衫方便对伤口检查。

拉蒙娜走进了房间。热情洋溢的笑容亲切而熟悉，与我的恐惧形成鲜明对比。几个星期前我在医生的办公室第一次看见她，那天她并不是护理我的护士，但是我却记住了她，因为她那夸张地笑声。那是种低沉、连续而又热烈的笑声。我还记得当时困惑地想病房里会有什么如此有趣的事情呢？最后却得出结论，她对工作不够认真，于是我就想知道她到底是哪个。但是，我错了。

今天不同。拉蒙娜以前给我抽过血，知道我害怕打针。她好心地把那些东在一份杂志下面，杂志的封面上是一间厨房的大照片。我脱下衬衫和背心，插在乳房上的导管露了出来，胸膛上的伤疤也暴露无遗。

她问道，“伤口愈合的怎么样？”

“很好。我每天都轻轻地清洗伤口的四周。”我说着这些的时候，眼前闪过洗澡水击打在麻木的胸膛上的画面。

她轻轻地靠近，用手抚摸着伤疤，检查新生的皮肤的光滑程度，寻找有没有不规则的地方。我开始轻轻地啜泣。她用关心的眼神看着我，问道，“你还没有碰过它，对吗？”“恩。”我答道。

于是这个热情善良的人把她金褐色的手掌轻轻地放在我苍白的胸口上，很久很久，我却没有停止哭泣。然后，她温柔地说道，“这是你身体的一部分，这就是你。摸一摸它吧，没关系的。”但是我做不到。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，她爱抚着的是我的心。

最后，拉蒙娜建议道，“我握着你的手，你去抚摸它。”然后她把手放到我的手旁边，我们都安静下来。那是拉蒙娜送给我的礼物。

那天晚上，当我躺到床上时，我轻轻地把手放到胸膛上，直到睡去。我知道我不再孤单，乳房、胸膛、拉蒙娜的礼物，还有我，我们一起躺在这张床上。

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