ABSTRACT
I felt I like a Russian doll, a doll inside another doll. The outer me was my usual me, a decisive person, moved by self-determination. The doll inside me was cancerous, rendering me incompetent to control my own destiny after having taken possession of me from the inside of my unsuspecting breast. A wish to surrender emerged within me, to let the inner doll penetrate the surface of the exterior doll until she was taken over and progressively anesthetized into the sleep of death. The wish grew in proportion to the increasing awareness of the nature of the fight I was being called upon to make to stop the cancerous invasion of my body: the surrendering of my breast and the massive intake of poison to kill the cancerous doll within the surface of my skin. I felt a tremendous fatigue, beyond tears, beyond words, beyond despair, the fatigue of those who have entered the war for survival. I knew it was a war without truce until death itself came from natural causes, or other causes, or until this very same cancer caused my body to add a minuscule pile of dust to the universal ground.
