I reached for the small bottle of amber liquid and poured some on the washcloth. Suddenly, I was transported back to Roger Williams Medical Center, where I'd spent too much time being treated for leukemia. I had to be careful washing around the catheter that protruded from my chest, even though it was covered with plastic. Nausea, a near-constant companion, surrounded me in the steamy mist and threatened to knock me over. The all-purpose shampoo/body wash mocked me as I slathered it over my slumping, chemo-ravaged frame. I had no hair, and taking a shower had become an oppressive task. The liquid reeked of cancer.
The smell of that bath gel brought back awful memories. Why had I saved it? Looking at the bottle hadn't unnerved me, but the smell sent me right back to a time and place I prefer not to re-visit. Part of me, the tough (and thrifty) part says: keep the cursed stuff, use it til it's done and kick that olfactory memory in the butt. The other part says: toss the goo; it's not worth the mental trauma.
What would you do?
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6 comments:
Toss it. Your piece of mind is worth more than a small bottle of soap.
Toss the goo. Wash those memories away as you pour the liquid soap down the drain.
forget about thrifty. your worth (anyone's worth) can't even be fathomed compared to that bottle.
toss it!
I don't think I'd need the bottle of stuff to remind me. I would get rid of it in some sort of ceremony to mark theat rite of passage, so to speak.
Hurl it as far as you can and then have your kids pick it up and hurl it furthur and then again and again until it is a distant memory
Emma
Toss it! And when you do, visualize that you are tossing any thought that any cancer will reappear.
I've been going through my cord blood transplant since the day after Thanksgiving, but I am keeping in touch as best I can.
You sound like you're doing great.
Tammy (Priestesst)
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