The Burden She Bears(Mieyo Vesper) The pain had come quietly at first. A whisper beneath her skin, a dull ache she barely noticed, like an old song playing in the background. It wasn't sharp or urgent—just a persistent discomfort she could brush aside, something she told herself would fade with time. But then, it didn't. Instead, it settled in, grew stronger, took root inside her. And before she knew it, the whispers had become screams. A dull ache in her shoulder, something she had brushed off as a strain, a passing discomfort. She had carried heavier things before—groceries, books, even her own exhaustion from long days of work. Pain was nothing new to her. But this... this was different.

It began to spread, creeping into her back, pulling at her muscles like an unseen force digging into her flesh. At first, she ignored it. She had always been strong. Always capable. She told herself that it was temporary, that she would wake up one morning and it would be gone. But morning after morning, the ache lingered. And then, it worsened.

Carrying bags that once felt like nothing became unbearable. The straps of her haversack dug into her shoulder like knives. Even the softest fabric of her bra stung against her skin, pressing down on nerves that screamed in agony. She couldn't understand it. She had once been able to carry heavy loads without a second thought. Now, even a light plastic bag felt impossible.

She tried to push through it. She had never been the type to complain. She was used to holding things together, to being strong not just for herself, but for everyone else. So, she kept moving, kept smiling when people asked how she was. But inside, she was breaking.

Then came the discovery—the bulge that shouldn't have been there. At first, it had been small, barely noticeable. But as the days passed, it grew. It spread like an invader taking over her body, a silent force reshaping her in ways she couldn't control. And with it came the fear.

Why now? she thought bitterly, staring at her reflection in the mirror, fingertips pressing against the unfamiliar shape on her shoulder. What if the surgery goes wrong? What if the pain never stops? What if I become even more of a burden? What if... what if... what if?

She had undergone a biopsy last September, hoping for answers, but instead, she was met with uncertainty. The doctor had spoken cautiously, the weight of his words pressing down on her. It might be cancer.

Her breath had caught in her throat. She had sat there, nodding, as though she understood, as though she wasn’t spiraling inside. But even if it wasn’t, the treatment would remain the same. There was no easy way out. No shortcut to relief.

Her doctor had initially opted for a wait-and-see approach, hoping that the tumor would remain manageable. At first, she felt a strange sense of relief—no immediate procedures, no drastic measures. But as the days passed, relief turned into unease. The tumor wasn't waiting; it was growing. The dull ache transformed into an ever-present pain, each twinge a reminder that time was slipping away. Doubt crept in. What if waiting was a mistake? What if it was already too late? But it didn’t. It grew, faster than expected, pressing against muscles and nerves, making every movement a challenge. She watched helplessly as it extended to her back, its presence an ever-looming shadow in her life. And then, the doctor gave her a choice—one that wasn’t really a choice at all. Surgery was inevitable. They could no longer wait.

The date was set. April. Soon enough that it felt like the days were slipping through her fingers, each one bringing her closer to the operating table. The doctors spoke in measured tones, their words carefully chosen. Surgery. Radiation. Treatments that sounded clinical, detached, like they were talking about someone else's body, someone else's pain. But it was hers. This was happening to her. And no matter how much she tried to stay composed, the weight of it all pressed down on her, heavier than anything she had ever carried.

Her insurance—she had to think about that too. The biopsy had already been covered, but now came the bigger cost. Surgery. Radiation therapy. Follow-up treatments. Would her coverage be enough? What once seemed like a vast safety net now felt like a finite resource slipping away.

What if I can’t pay for it all? she thought, lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. What if I run out of coverage before the treatments are done? What if this becomes another burden for my family? The biopsy had already been covered, but now came the bigger cost. Surgery. Radiation therapy. Follow-up treatments. Would her coverage be enough? What once seemed like a vast safety net now felt like a finite resource slipping away.

What if I can’t pay for it all? she thought, lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. What if I run out of coverage before the treatments are done? What if this becomes another burden for my family?

She didn't just worry about herself; she worried about her family, her friends, even her colleagues. She had always been dependable, always the one who carried the weight. Now, she was the weight. A burden. And the guilt of that realization sat heavily on her chest.

The nights became the hardest. When the world was quiet and there was no one to pretend for, the tears came.

I don’t want to need help. The thought hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long being strong for others that she had forgotten how to let someone be strong for her. But I’m tired. So, so tired.

Her mind felt like an endless loop of worries, each thought heavier than the last. She turned onto her side, curling into herself, as if making her body smaller could somehow make the problem disappear. But it didn’t. It was still there. The fear. The uncertainty. The ache in her heart that no medication could soothe.

The weight of it all threatened to crush her. The despair was suffocating, a darkness that wrapped around her chest and refused to let go. She cried in silence, afraid to let anyone see how much she was unraveling. She had always been the one who held things together. How could she let herself fall apart now?

And the pain—oh, the pain. It was relentless now. A deep, searing agony that refused to be ignored. Every movement felt like fire burning through her muscles, every breath a reminder of how much she had lost control over her own body. It wasn't just physical anymore. It was emotional. Mental. A weight that settled deep into her bones, making everything feel heavier, even the simplest of tasks. When the world was quiet and there was no one to pretend for, the tears came.

I don’t want to need help. The thought hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long being strong for others that she had forgotten how to let someone be strong for her. But I’m tired. So, so tired.

Her mind felt like an endless loop of worries, each thought heavier than the last. She turned onto her side, curling into herself, as if making her body smaller could somehow make the problem disappear. But it didn’t. It was still there. The fear. The uncertainty. The ache in her heart that no medication could soothe.

The weight of it all threatened to crush her. The despair was suffocating, a darkness that wrapped around her chest and refused to let go. She cried in silence, afraid to let anyone see how much she was unraveling. She had always been the one who held things together. How could she let herself fall apart now?

And the pain—oh, the pain. It was relentless now. A deep, searing agony that refused to be ignored. Every movement felt like fire burning through her muscles, every breath a reminder of how much she had lost control over her own body. It wasn't just physical anymore. It was emotional. Mental. A weight that settled deep into her bones, making everything feel heavier, even the simplest of tasks.

But then, one evening, as she sat alone watching the last light of the day fade into darkness, something shifted. The weight of her fears, her exhaustion, her uncertainty—it was all still there, pressing against her chest like an unrelenting force. But as the sky deepened into an inky black, she felt a flicker of something else. A moment of stillness. A realization. That even in the midst of her pain, she was still here. Still breathing. Still fighting. The weight was still there. The pain still burned through her body. The fear still gnawed at the edges of her mind. But in that quiet moment, she whispered a prayer.

Not for the pain to disappear. Not for time to turn back.

But for the strength to keep going.

Because even though she felt like she was drowning, some small part of her still refused to sink.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

To be continued in Part II after surgery.

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