Between Sin and Salvation

Chapter XI

Chapter IX

Miss Rollins picked at a ragged nail, the sound barely audible over her leg's frantic bouncing. The unrhythmic jittering echoed in the stillness of the room, dissonant with the ticking clock on the wall. Shadows danced across her face in the dim light of Louise's office, accentuating the hollowing of her cheeks, a silent testimony to the cancer's voracious appetite. Margaret, seated next to her, placed a steadying hand on Miss Rollins' knee. The incessant movement ceased, if only for a moment.

Louise leaned forward, her chair creaking under the shift of weight. X-ray films lay scattered across her desk, their edges worn and cracked from countless hours of scrutiny. She met Miss Rollins' gaze, forcing her features into what she hoped was a reassuring expression. "I have good news," she began, her tone measured.

Miss Rollins' fingers stilled, the half-torn nail forgotten. Her body sank into the chair, head leaning back as if to thank a higher power. Margaret's fingers traced soothing circles on her knee, a gentle smile playing on her lips.

"It appears the cancer has not metastasized," Louise continued, her interlaced fingers tightening imperceptibly on the desk. "It hasn't spread to your lungs or bones, which are our primary concerns in cases like yours." The unspoken 'but' hung heavy in the air between them.

"Well, I'll be damned," Miss Rollins let out a drawn-out exhale, the words carrying the weight of weeks of held breath. Her eyes glistened with tears, no longer held in the suspension between life and death. "That's a relief."

Louise's shoulders tensed, her spine straightening, knowing the hardest part of the conversation was yet to come. Margaret, sensing the shift, clasped Miss. Rollins' hand.

"What remains to be discussed is how we will treat the cancer that you do have." Louise leaned back, the worn leather of her chair groaning in protest. "For breast cancer, we typically recommend a radical mastectomy. It's considered the gold standard, but I should warn you, it's quite... invasive."

Miss Rollins' brow furrowed, confusion etching lines across her forehead. "I'm not following." Her leg resumed its frantic dance, knuckles whitening as she gripped Margaret's hand.

Louise took a deep breath, steeling herself. "It involves the complete removal of breast tissue and underlying chest muscles. Additionally, the axillary lymph nodes, glands situated beneath the arm that filter harmful substances from the body, would also need to be removed. The resulting wounds are...substantial and require extensive suturing -"

"So you're tellin' me you're gonna chop me tits off?" Miss Rollins gasped, her eyes rounded with horror. Her free hand flew to her chest, "You're taking the piss."

"Essentially, we will be," Louise cleared her throat, the words tasting bitter on her tongue, "cutting your breasts off."

The color drained from Miss Rollins' face, leaving her ashen. She batted away Margaret's comforting hand, clutching at her breasts. "But... the lads love 'em."

Louise knew it was more than that; it was the perceived loss of femininity, a sacrifice of a fundamental part of oneself. It was a mutilation that would forever alter the reflection in the mirror. But she always struggled to find the right words to express the depth of this loss, the internal war with one's sense of identity. How could mere words ever encompass the existential precipice on which Miss Rollins now teetered?

She simply shifted in her chair. "Postoperatively, your wounds will need drains to remove the buildup of any excess fluid." She paused, waiting until Miss Rollins' haunted gaze met hers. "I'll be honest with you, the recovery will be lengthy and painful, often necessitating weeks at the hospital under careful supervision. You will suffer long-term issues with the range of motion of your arms."