I live postoperatively. While daylight casts shadows back east, these hours used and reserved positions like reclining for flying and appointments and tests. Before stage 4, a lap formed by sitting posed an imposition on daily routines. Sex and sleeping happen in bed. Lights dimmed or off. Today my husband hugs at my good side. My left side. The port juts out of my right sub-clavicle chest wall above the offending breast. Raised in a locked, up right position, satin sheets of sweat envelop my body. Feminine, defenestrated and forced out to pasture, I’m as uncomfortable in this green yard as I irecall my life.