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Three Megans
by Lesley-Anne Evans Megan stared at the stain, horrified. She had carefully washed her hands before the nurse arrived in their classroom. Now, under the ultraviotet lights, she saw all the spots she had missed. Megan grimaced, picturing all the tiny bugs on her hands. "Yuck", she said, climbing up onto the stool at the sink. Megan slowly lathered up each finger and began to sing, "A, B, C, D, E, F, G...". Megan stared at the stain, horrified. An all too familiar pain gripped her abdomen. The plans, the names, the years of trying, the future evaporated in a moment's realization that her body was rejecting the invitro again. Megan closed her eyes tightly. Megan stared at the stain, horrified. In the mirror she examined the balding head, pale flesh and dark eyes of a stranger. She had battled hard, and the demon within her refused to die. And now, freshly tattooed for the mastectomy, she felt a tear drop onto her tender flesh. It burned. Lesley-Anne writes to share hope, encouragment and small graces with those God puts in her path. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |