Roza the amazon. Roza l'amazone

Athénaïs Lisa Swan

Description

Rosine Dubois est une mère célibataire de quarante-sept ans qui a survécu à un cancer du sein et qui a été abandonnée par son mari pendant le traitement. Les médecins ont été obligés de lui enlever la totalité du sein droit pour éviter qu'elle meure. Deux ans plus tard, elle tente de retrouver une vie normale, mais elle a du mal à supporter la pression que son entourage et la société font peser sur elle pour qu'elle ait de nouveau un corps normal. Son quotidien est chamboulé lorsqu'elle vient en aide à une jeune fille détenant un objet magique qui est poursuivie par une créature dangereuse. L'artefact choisit Rosine et la transforme en super-héroïne en lui donnant la force et les armes d'une guerrière amazone.
Rosine Dubois is a forty-seven-year-old single mother who survived breast cancer and was dumped by her husband during treatment. Doctors were forced to remove her entire right breast to prevent her from dying. Two years later, she is trying to get her life back to normal, but she finds it difficult to cope with the pressure from people around her and from society to have a normal body again. Her life is turned upside down when she rescues a young girl with a magical object who is being chased by a dangerous creature. The artifact chooses Rosine and transforms her into a superhero, giving her the strength and weapons of an Amazon warrior.

Informations

• Publié par: Iggybook
• Date de parution: 20 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9782379798917
• Langue: Français

Extrait

Athénaïs Lisa Swan
Roza the Amazon Roza l’Amazone
Translation/Traduction : Mélanie Cosnard
Illustration : JHouda
ISBN epub 9782379798917 ISBN papier 9782379798900 © Octobre 2022 Athénaïs Lisa Swan


Roza the Amazon


This is a fictional book. All names and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to the real world is coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced by photocopying or other means for distribution; except for quotations in literature reviews or for non-commercial use.


Special thanks to my friends for always being there in the hardest moments.
To the movie Wonder Woman which inspired me.
To the patients who fight against the disease and to those who are supporting them.
To the courage of people who face heavy stereotypes.


Doubt is a strength. A truly beautiful force. Just make sure it always pushes you forward. Le Pacte des MarchOmbres - Tome 2 : Ellana by Pierre Bottero



Chapter 1
- Mrs Dubois, are you still with me?
It’s my surgeon talking to me, he’s just explained to me how my operation is going to work. He’s talked about the possible risks, the pain I’m going to have to go through, how to deal with it, the healing time and everything else. There is so much information. My head feels heavy, like it weighs a ton and is going to explode. It’s quite nerve-wracking to hear, I wanted to memorize everything and by the end I was absorbed in the surgeon’s words, I’m a patient stunned by the procedure which is very complex. You could even say that I am a marble statue, as I am so calm and silent.
- Yes, I answer, focusing on him again.
I stare at him; afraid he will think I am not serious about my intentions. I glance at his white hair, he has more than I do. My attention can’t focus on a single point, I scrutinize him. He is dressed rather casually for a surgeon who is well known in the region. I force myself to refocus on his face. This only lasts a few moments. My gaze slips again, I fall on the objects surrounding us. A wooden desk where his computer, pens, a printer and his supply of sheets are placed. Two cupboards and an examination table are in a corner of the room, there are only the bare necessities. The decoration composed of three paintings of colored birds does not change anything, it is not a place where one wishes to linger.
I try not to show my worries, I haven’t stopped thinking about what this appointment will bring for several months. I am facing a step that will rectify my life, that will improve it and finally make me happy. This does not prevent my stomach from being tied up in knots by fear. This fear is invasive and devours me from the inside. My surgeon and I look at each other blankly for a few moments, and then he adds:
- Are you ok?
He is embarrassed because he knows my story. As he has read my file, he must have seen the lines where it says that I almost gave up chemotherapy because I couldn’t take it anymore.
- Are you ready?
- Yes. I’ve... I’ve been looking forward to this moment.
I have been waiting for this opportunity for so long, I have to be more optimistic. The first surgeon I was offered has a reputation for being a butcher because of the huge scars he left behind. I have survived cancer, not to end up with a body that looks like Frankenstein’s monster. I’m here for the final stage of my recovery: rebuilding my life with an operation that will create a new breast. I am no longer a cancer patient. Unfortunately, I am still a cancer patient in the eyes of others because I am still missing a breast. People keep staring at me, which makes me feel like a freak.
One day I went to the grocery shop for a chocolate bar with Ilona, the youngest of my two daughters. I just wanted to go out, get some fresh air, forget about the disease and bake a cake to go with the meal. For now, there is nothing exceptional or capable of traumatizing a sick person. My hair and eyebrows were gone, I was thin and pale and had recently lost a breast. It was clear that I was seriously ill, and some people couldn’t help but whisper, so I took it in my stride and waited for the checkout. I could hear them talking about my missing right breast, that my husband certainly couldn’t want me anymore, that I should be ashamed of showing my asymmetrical breasts to everyone and especially to the girls in the shop. Honestly, I tried to stay for Ilona who loved my chocolate fudge, but my daughter saw that it was hard for me and said she didn’t want any more cake, I said I was tired, and we went home. I wanted to scream so badly: “For God’s sake, it’s just a breast. Stop making a fuss. This is my body, a sick body. I have cancer and I didn’t do this operation for fun. I didn’t do it to be noticed by idiots.”
- I know that cancer has greatly disrupted your life and that it has broken up your marriage, adds the surgeon, Mr Mondart.
For better or for worse , that’s what I was told at the ceremony. Isn’t it? I don’t have any hard feelings about marriage, it’s just that I’ve been wrong for years. Cancer didn’t change my life by imploding it as my mother and some of my friends think, it just revealed a reality. In health and illness , it’s just a phrase to reassure the weaker or naive in the couple. That lump in my body did not destroy my existence, it just revealed that I had married a selfish man.
- Are you well surrounded, Mrs. Dubois?
Why is that? Is he afraid I’ll jump out of the window? I hold back my sarcasm, it’s true that I’ve stood my ground and given up nothing because I’m the mother of two underage girls.
- Yes, I answer, trying to sound firm and convincing. I want this reconstruction and I’m not going to back down.
He raises a puzzled eyebrow; he is not convinced by what I have just said.
- Apart from your daughters?
I grimace slightly. He knows my story. The oncology department must have passed on my file. My surgeon stares at me intently. What does he want? A long, emotional speech about how I’m not going to give up. I am tired of having to look strong all the time, I want it all to be over. Alas, as there are many women alone in this situation and abandonment is a sweet temptation, I have to add a few words.
- Yes, I have friends and family. I’ll be fine, I said, trying to convince him not to worry. I’m still going to make it.
When I was diagnosed with cancer, it was a shock and, despite the fear, I told myself that I was going to be strong and that I would get through it because I had a husband to support me through it. And remember, the earlier a serious illness is caught, the more effective the treatment. Except in my case. My cancer was more harmful than expected. Therefore, the treatment had to be tougher and therefore harder to bear. I lost a lot of weight; I was tired a lot and I was not in good spirits. In spite of my condition, I also imposed on myself the fact that I had to look strong in order to preserve the happiness of the family cocoon. This comedy may seem meaningless and a futile expenditure of energy, but it was. It was a role that had to be played because the family’s machinery depended on me.
Alas, the disease was tougher than my will and I had to rest. And so my world was shattered. I had not foreseen the side effect of the hell that is cancer: divorce. It was a slap in the face that was difficult to overcome. My husband abandoned me because the lump in my body no longer made me attractive, I could no longer do the chores and our two daughters, aged eight and fifteen at the time, had to be looked after. I had become useless, and our marriage did not last because of this. Twenty years of living together washed away in the blink of an eye.
At that moment, I discovered a career as a supporting player in his life: a daughter available for chores, a devoted mother to showcase him as a father, a lovely wife to shine on the relatives. I’ve been ripped off and rightly so. I should be handed the Oscar for jug of the year. When I found out I could die, I didn’t expect to have to go through a separation. What’s more, he had the thoughtfulness to take a lovely young mistress (healthy, of course) and file for divorce shortly after my second chemotherapy session. I had the unpleasant feeling of being useless and a machine to be replaced by another new model. I became obsolete to my husband as a wife, while I might end up six feet under.
As a parent, however, I got the lead without asking and became a cancerous single mother. According to him, I was perfectly capable of handling the stresses of parenthood on my own. After all, it is the traditional role of women. Mister was always too busy for our daughters, so he delegated their worries about my tumour and the divorce to me. Fortunately, a child is a two-person job, and my cancer was trying to kill me. I still have a bitter taste from that period, because when I was at my worst, it was the elder daughter who comforted the younger one when she had nightmares. Despite the sadness and anger, I quickly accepted the separation and concentrated on what was really important. Did I really have a choice? The doctors had doubts about my survival, I had no time to lose. Aziliz, the eldest daughter with blond hair, lost confidence and asked her friend Samira if her mother, a lawyer, could analyse the documents concerning the separation. She was very helpful and when she read everything carefully, she realised that my future ex-husband had had non-reversal of maintenance clauses drawn up. The message was clear, he didn’t want to do anything more for them. My ex behaved as if he wanted to start a new life with his candid girlfriend, and to do this he made our children a cumbersome option. Luckily, my lawyer was very good at negotiating and I did well. Alas, it was a short-lived respite. For the first few months, he paid chil