It was the end of the fifth week of my seven week ordeal.
The chemo bag hung on my bony hip.
Three large X’s marked the sites for radiation.
My hair was coming out in clumps.
My breasts rested on my sternum from weight loss.
I stood before the mirror in all my naked gory.
My reflection reminded me of Dante’s painting.
I envisioned the tormented naked bodies plunging into hell.
Suddenly I realized that this was no more me than that.
And I laughed and laughed and laughed at the grotesque illusion.