粉紅色的戰爭

張玲

Almost every night， I go into my parents' room and tuck my mom into bed. I'll lie next to her until my father comes upstairs or until homework calls. We'll sit there and talk， and I'll play with her hair， plug in1） her phone， and poke fun at2） her. She pokes right back. I'll turn out the light， kiss her forehead， pat her shoulder， and tell her good night. This is among my more peculiar habits， but her presence in mind and body is one of the most precious things in my life.

I remember it was an aberrantly3） warm day in February， especially for Vermont. The winter had been mild that year； the grass was especially green， and the sun was pleasantly golden， suspended in a cloudless sky. I skipped off the school bus to find her car in the driveway. I knew then that something was wrong. My stomach clenched and my chest throbbed； lead feet eventually brought me to the door. She was crying.

My mother looked at me through raw4） eyes and said， "I have breast cancer." We cried， we hugged， and I sat on her lap. I was in fifth grade， scared and confused， just leaving behind the years of cooties5）， flips on the monkey bars6）， and bedtime cuddles7）. Five years before， my grandmother had had the same cancer. She showed me where metal staples held her skin together in the strangest way. Was that going to happen to my mom？

幾乎每天晚上，我都會走進父母的房間安頓媽媽上床睡覺。我會躺在她旁邊，直到爸爸上樓或我不得不去做家庭作業。我們會坐在那兒聊天，我會撥弄她的頭發，給她的手機插上電源，開她的玩笑，她也會反過來調侃我。我會關掉燈，親親她的額頭，拍拍她的肩膀，和她說晚安。這是我諸多比較獨特的習慣之一，但媽媽在心靈和身體上的存在才是我生命中最珍貴的事情之一。

我記得那是二月里異常暖和的一天，尤其是對佛蒙特州來說。那年冬天一直很暖和，草特別綠，宜人的金色太陽懸掛在萬里無云的天空。我跳下校車，發現媽媽的車停在家門前的車道上。我當時就知道有什么事不對勁了。我的胃緊縮起來，心臟怦怦直跳，灌了鉛似的雙腳終于把我帶到了門口。媽媽正在哭。

媽媽用紅腫的雙眼看著我說：“我得了乳腺癌。”我坐在她腿上，我們相擁而泣。那時我上五年級，才剛剛告別那些玩組裝毛毛蟲玩具、在攀爬架翻上翻下和睡前抱抱的歲月，我感到恐懼和困惑。五年前，我姥姥也得了乳腺癌。她給我看過那些被金屬釘以無比奇怪的方式把皮膚攏在一起的地方。那將會發生在我媽媽身上嗎？

We cried a lot as my mom told relatives and arranged appointments and bought a wig8） for when chemo9） began. I went along to help her choose， although she didn't like the one I picked out and instead bought a short， curly wig a shade or two lighter than her normal hair. She stayed strong for us during this time that I have come to associate with tears.

It was March when Mom went to the hospital to have the tumor10） removed. I went to school， needing the distraction. Dad called my teacher during the morning with updates. Then， during our silent reading time， as I was sitting between my two best friends， my teacher smiled and said， "She's out of surgery."

When chemo began the warrior scarves and the pink ribbons11） came to mean something more than "support the cause" and became "support my mom". That was also the time that our family hairdresser， a close friend of Mom's， came over with trimmers. We put a sheet on the floor， and in no time Mom's hair was a half inch long. Soon that half inch of fuzz fell out too， and she was left with a smooth， shining， pale scalp. Around the house she'd wear a wrap on her bald head. None of us liked looking at it. It took me a while before I could think of her bald without crying. Before all the hair was gone I told her to put some of it under her pillow for the "Hair Fairy". She agreed， to humor12） me. I snuck into her room while she was asleep and put a quarter under her pillow. My mom still carries that quarter with her.endprint

She became distant， both in mind and body. I remember Dad telling my brother and me to play quietly because "Mommy needs to rest".

I didn't feel like I had a mom that summer. She is absent in those memories； simply not there. She continued to work， despite the chemo and radiation， but was always exhausted. At home she was either asleep or on "chemo-brain". She'd laugh off her newfound absentmindedness， saying she might even lose her head if it wasn't attached. Even though she would look at me and try to listen， she often wasn't able to understand what I was saying.

This spring， my mom is five years cancer free. Her hair has grown back wavy13） and not gray， as she had feared. She claims to still have chemo-brain some days， but now it really is just a joke. The wig is sitting on my shelf. Our warrior scarves are collecting dust. We still have pink ribbons everywhere. The remains of her war against cancer are spread throughout our lives like battle scars to brag about14） to the world. After that difficult year of tears， my mom is back and here to help me through the simple problems of high school.

So I don't fight with my mom. I don't ignore her intentionally， nor do I talk about her negatively. She is healthy and strong and present in every sense of the word15）. She's my mom again. Every night， I tuck her in， turn out the light， and kiss her cheek because I know that we are lucky； there are plenty of girls out there whose moms didn't find their lumps early enough. Never before have I been so thankful for my mother and so grateful that she is here with me.

隨著媽媽通知了親戚們，安排了各種預約，還買了一頂假發以供化療開始時用，我們哭了好多次。我陪著她去幫她挑假發，不過她不喜歡我選的那個，反而買了一頂短卷發，顏色比她正常的發色淺一兩個色度。在這段時間里，她為了我們一直保持堅強，我也漸漸習慣了與眼淚為伴。

三月的時候媽媽去醫院切除腫瘤。我需要分散一下注意力，于是去了學校。手術那天上午，爸爸打電話給我的老師，報告最新消息。接著在默讀時間，當時我坐在我最要好的兩個朋友中間，老師微笑著告訴我：“她做完手術了。”

當化療開始時，勇士圍巾與粉紅絲帶就有了比“支持防治乳腺癌事業”更多的意義，變成“支持我媽媽”。也正是在那個時候，我們家的美發師——媽媽的一個密友——帶著理發器來到了我們家。我們在地上鋪了一條床單，轉眼間媽媽的頭發就只有半英寸長了。很快那半英寸長的頭發也掉落了，只留下平滑錚亮的蒼白頭皮。在家時她會在光頭上戴個頭巾。我們都不喜歡看那個頭巾。我花了好長時間才做到不會一想到她的光頭就哭。在她所有頭發都剪掉之前，我讓她把一些頭發放在她的枕頭底下留給“頭發仙女”。為了遷就我，她同意了。我趁她睡著時溜進她的房間，將一個兩角五分的硬幣放在了她枕頭下面——媽媽到現在還隨身帶著那枚硬幣。

她變得離我們遠了，無論是心靈上還是身體上。我記得爸爸告訴我和弟弟要安安靜靜地玩，因為“媽媽需要休息”。

那年夏天我感覺自己就像沒有媽媽一樣。那些記憶里沒有她，她就是不在那兒。盡管要做化療和放療，但她還是繼續工作，不過卻總是疲憊不堪。在家的時候她不是在睡覺就是處于“化療腦”狀態（編注：指病人在接受化療后出現的思維不清和記憶衰退癥狀）。對于她新發現的這個健忘癥，她總是一笑了之，還打趣說她的腦袋要不是長在身上，她可能都會把腦袋弄丟了。盡管她也會看著我努力傾聽，但她經常不能理解我在說什么。

今年春天，媽媽擺脫癌癥五年了。她的頭發已經長回來了，是卷發，而且沒有像她擔心的那樣變成灰白色。有些時候她聲稱自己仍有“化療腦”，但現在這真的只是個玩笑而已。那頂假發就放在我的書架上；我們的勇士圍巾則不斷積聚著灰塵；我們家到處都還留著粉紅絲帶。她與癌癥作戰的這些殘跡如今遍布在我們的生活中，像是我們藉以向全世界炫耀的戰斗傷疤。在那以淚洗面的艱難的一年后，我的媽媽回來了，在我身邊幫助我解決高中那些簡單的問題。

所以我不會和媽媽爭吵，我不會故意不理她，也不會說她的不好。她現在身體健康、強壯，任何意義上都存在著。她又是我的媽媽了。每天晚上，我會安頓她睡覺，關掉燈，親親她的臉頰，因為我知道我們是幸運的—世界上還有很多女孩，她們的媽媽沒能及早發現自己的乳腺癌。我從未對我的媽媽如此心存感激，從未對她就在我的身邊如此感恩。endprint