That was by far, the most amazing shower of my entire existence. When I finally felt the water make it's way through my 3-day-old, hairspray and dry-shampoo crusted mane (my friends and family can confirm, I have a mane) I started bawling. At first because the cool water just felt so good on this hot summer night we're having.
And then I started crying because the last time I was in that very shower, it was the morning of my surgery and it brought back all the nerves, fears and emotions of that morning. It reminded me that I've had a very hard three and a half weeks; weeks I wish upon no one. I've been poked and prodded, biopsied, cut, stitched and taped. I've woken up to pain so deep, a simple movement of my arm can take my breath away.
I've been shown so much love, support and friendship that I could fill a ship with it and send it off to places that need those very things, and I'd STILL have some left over for me.
I've proved to myself how strong I can be, and then ten minutes later how weak I can be. I have a long way to go until I'm 100% recovered, but this shower is one in the first stumbly steps I'll take to get there.
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