The people who meet us at the time of treatment, tend to consider us primarily as a sick person and more like the woman we are anyway. We even tend to forget ourselves sometimes... Yet if our physical is damaged, our deep self has not changed.
Indeed, for others, we are no longer Caroline, Emma or Brigitte but we become the cancer of which we suffer. We lose all identity: same bald skull, eyes without a soul due to loss of eyelashes and eyebrows, nails falling.. we end up in the eyes of others by us all look like, we endorse the costume of the patient and we become the image even suffering or even death. Most of us only talk about the disease, its treatments, their side effects forgetting that we can also, between two chemists, aspire to forget this cancer that sticks to our skin, discuss cinema, books or exhibitions, chat about everything you're welcome…
But on our side, too, our concerns revolve around these infernal care, these trips back to the hospital that punctuate and pollute our daily lives. Our reflection in the ice becomes unbearable. To ward off the mirrors of a black veil, especially not to see our reflection, to look away from those who scrutinize us in the street, few are able to assume their new appearance. And if, when cancer gives us some respite, we aspire to participate from time to time in real life, it is not so simple to disassociate and extract for a time the shackles of the disease.
I am delighted to present this beautiful video made at the instigation of the English association Breast Cancer Care, which in two minutes reminds all that behind the treatment is the woman...
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