Where were you when Death was standing over me, holding my life in His hands?
Where were you when I pulled the car I was driving over to vomit up the chemotherapy I had just been infused with through a device inserted under the skin into a vein leading directly to my heart?
All thirteen times?
Where were you when cold hands directed my torso into precise locations underneath terrifyingly large machines that emitted radioactive beams into my body?
All thirty-three times?
Where were you when I was so crippled by pain, I actually lost consciousness?
Where were you when I had all of my reproductive organs removed the week I turned 40, plunging me into overnight menopause?
Where were you when I had to measure the hourly output of three drains sewn into my body after an 8-hour surgery to remove both of my breasts because of a second occurrence of breast cancer when I was a 45 year-old divorcee?
Where were you when I miscarried a perfectly beautiful baby, not a piece of tissue, onto the tile of my bathroom floor; with no alternative but to flush it down the toilet?
Where were you when I spent 4 days in the cardiac ICU because my organs were shutting down; Death showing up again just to toy with me?
Where were you when I was betrayed; abandoned and alone; heartbroken; lost; torn to shreds by the ruthlessness and relentlessness of grief?
Were you by my side?
Did you SEE how I suffered?
I didn’t think so.
Yet somehow you feel qualified to judge how I survived.
The “How” is none of your business.
You should be happy “That” I survived at all.
Many far better than I did not.
You may see me as Damaged Goods.
But let me tell you something:
I’m a SURVIVOR and I will never be ashamed of my scars or my wounds or my choices.
They are mine and no one else’s, and if you do not like them, please see yourself out.
For those of you who were present AND supportive for ANY of the above, thank you from the absolute core of my heart. I love you dearly. ❤️🩹