For five weeks, the photon beams I had been getting had blanketed my whole breast. Now the electron beams would pinpoint the place where the trouble began. Radiation leaves its marks. Even now, almost two months later, there are small traces of my moments in the room reinforced with lead and concrete. My husband touches my breast.
Doctors examine it.
Well, it's not their breast. It's my breast. I don't like looking at it. I don't touch it. To tell the truth, I'm nervous now that my treatment is over.