Paracetamol every six hours. I noted the time I took it on my phone so I wouldn't forget. I was in a lot of pain. When I finally managed to fall asleep, a nurse woke me. The nurse looking after me that evening was very kind. We talked a little when she passed by. I was tired but couldn't sleep. I was very awake every night around 10pm, then again around 1am, then around 6am.

In the end, I had to stay five days in hospital. Because of the Ascension bank holiday, they couldn't find a nurse to come take care of me at my house so my return home was delayed. Four nights to spend alone. Fortunately I could talk to Marc.

Marc came to see me on the Friday and Saturday. I was so happy to see him.

That day I made an effort to wash my face and brush my teeth as best I could. I felt completely fresh even though my sheets hadn't been changed and I was still in my hospital gown. I haven’t washed my face since my operation day which was two days ago. I felt really dirty but didn’t have the strength to do that on my own.

I waited for Marc impatiently. We'd travelled a lot together, moved a lot. Seeing him felt like coming home. He is my home. I'd sent him instructions to find my room. My brother-in-law drove Marc to the hospital. I watched the car arrive and park, through my window.

This window was my TV show. So many things happening in the parking lot of this hospital. I mean… just people coming and leaving the hospital. But I loved watching them as it entertained me but also reminded me that life outside hospital exists.

Marc and Thomas both took their time getting in. When I heard knocking, I was overjoyed. Thomas passed by the say hello. He'd come back to drive Marc back home after.

I cried a lot when I saw Marc. I don't really know why. I was relieved to see him. I just wanted to touch him, feel his skin against mine. I think he didn't understand why I was crying, because by message I seemed in a good mood. He didn't realise how fragile I was from the operation until now.

He tried to talk to me but I couldn't respond much. We went down to the cafeteria to get a snack. It was the first time I'd left my hospital room since the operation. We went slowly. I had my drain with me — you could see blood going into it. I had to carry it as a purse. This is actually how we call it to make it lighter “our little purse”. Indeed. A purse full of blood. Nice.

I didn't want people to see that. I didn't want to frighten anyone especially children. I took it and tried to hide it the best I could. We went downstairs. I was afraid for my scar. The slightest jolt from the lift frightened me. I was afraid it would burst open.

There were a few people in the cafeteria. I told him I was going to sit down while he queued. I had a little hunger. We had drinks and sweet snacks. I was pleased to eat something other than hospital food. We took our snack back to my room. I don't think we talked much but I was so pleased he was there, at my side. I think we tried to find something to watch on my computer. I asked him to come closer — closer to me, in my bed. I wanted to feel his skin against mine. It comforted me. At first he didn't dare because there wasn't much room. But he came. I was happy. Then he had to leave.

I remember I was somehow happy to be alone to find myself again. To absorb the shock of the operation, of the announcement. When I don’t feel good or weak, I am like a cat, I go hide myself from the society. This is kind of how I felt in this hospital room. I was reading, watching TV and some YouTube.

In the morning, I loved seeing the sunrise from my side of the window. It gave me hope.

I have trouble remembering the exact days. I know what happened but not which day. It’s all blurry to me.

On another day, my parents came back from Noémie's. They came to see me with Marc. My mother had brought me some porridge she made. My sister and Marc had bought some things for me. Some snacks that I love: chocolate, saucissons.

Monday arrived. The day they told me I’ll go home.

The cleaning lady came through as she did every day. But she was doing the cleaning quickly — it was a new woman. Since I was in the maternity ward, she asked where the baby was. There's no baby. I should have looked surprised.

I hadn't yet found my sense of humour. I told her there was no baby. I should have pretended to look surprised, as if I'd lost a baby.

They told me I could leave today. They changed my dressing, and I think it was at that moment I realised I was 'flat'. They hadn't reconstructed me. I hadn't understood that during my last appointment with Dr. Martin. I was shocked. I didn't dare look. The nurse cleaned the scar. I didn't look. I think I wanted to cry. I didn't have my left breast anymore and I didn't know they were going to put anything back in its place.

It didn't hurt, but I felt it was 'hard'. They gave me all the documents to leave. I told my family I could come home. My mother had prepared some meals at my request.

I was desperate to leave because I felt alone in hospital. That was depressing. But at the same time I was happy to be in hospital. It was my safe place. If something happened I could ask a nurse to look after me.

There I had to find a nurse to come every day to give injections and do the dressings. I think she didn't even do all the dressings — just the injections to avoid blood clotting since I could barely move. I didn't like the nurses. They didn't have time. I wasn't reassured. Nobody was taking care of my scar. I didn't dare clean it and apply the cream myself — so I asked my mother to do it. I think she didn't love doing it, but she had no choice. She showed no sign of hesitation. She took care of my scar every evening. It was our moment. During those evenings, she used it to talk to me, ask me questions. I didn't talk much. I smiled. I was very tired physically and mentally. I couldn't tell her in detail, day by day, what had happened since I got home — but I'll try to tell my feelings, the small memories I've kept.

Those nights were okay. I managed to sleep, it seems. But when I woke up, I had that 'hard' sensation all along my left side. I couldn't stretch. That was what I missed the most.

Until today I have a little trouble stretching. I no longer have the habit. I'm afraid of pulling too hard. But today I do gestures much more physical than stretching.

I remember my first morning — I woke up before Marc, having taken on a certain rhythm since the hospital. I decided to feed the cats. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it myself. I wanted to try. It made me incredibly proud to manage to feed my cats.

I no longer quite knew how to occupy my days. I think at the beginning I was in bed watching TV. Because I had to wait for the nurse. And then after eating I did long rests. There were days I had the energy to do things, like cooking. And others where I had no desire for anything. I felt it from the moment I woke. When I had no desire for anything, I'd stay in bed waiting for the day to pass, hoping it would be better the next day.