Just in case someone should ask

I returned for another "fill". Half dose, couldn't handle the full  load. With the standard handshake and inquiry to my health "how'd you do?" I consented once again to personal pain and torture. The divining rod-like magnet was waved over my chest marking the portal location, antiseptic applied and the foot long syringe extracted from the toolbox. I quickly reminded the practitioners that feeling had returned to that region and asked for some numbing spray. Following the "slight pinch" the doctor gritted his teeth and  applied  pressure to the plunger with an unnatural  intimacy. A slow process hindered by pressure from within.   As the needle was withdrawn the laws of physics applied and a small geyser sprouted followed by a squeak from the shinny attendant. Gauze, cotton ball and tape hung limp from the injection sight, adhesive useless against my damp skin. More experienced now I waved the attendant away and managed to stop the oozing myself. She handed me a fresh cotton ball which I held in place while she tapped. Over. Dr. K-H had already moved on to his next patient.

Before he left we discussed my skin. It is now showing signs of radiation damage.  It is stretched tight with small "pimples" that tear away. The area is darkening again and has a slight bruised appearance.  The implant is now the size of a baseball, and just as hard. Each movement involving my right side is crazy painful. The only time my arm feels "normal" is when placed over my head - so you can see me sitting most any time with my hand on my head. I 'm fighting against slumping and rounding my shoulders. It feels like my skin is shrinking and I want to curl up in a ball.  Finding a comfortable sleep position is impossible.  I'm again wondering why am I doing this? Today, I don't know.  Little jabby stabby pains shoot randomly through my baseball breast and I feel tugging and pulling with each movement. I'm actually nauseated by the pain. I don't know how long this will last.  Tom keeps making me laugh.  STOP IT! I tell him. He can't help himself. So I smile and giggle, and hold my  baseball in place while my chest tugs and pulls and my stomach turns. Joey sits on my feet, the laundry waits.