It was only a few weeks after my surgery, and I went to Dr. Belt's office for a checkup. It was just after my first chemotherapy  treatment. My scar was still very tender. My arm was numb underneath. As usual, I was taken to an examination room to have my blood drawn, again --a terrifying process for me, since I'm so frightened of needles. I lay down on the examining table. Ramona entered the room. Her warm smile was familiar, and stood out in contrast to my fears.  She knew about my fear of needles, and she kindly hid the equipment under a magazine. As we opened the blouse, the fresh scar on my chest could be seen. She said, "How is your scar healing?" I said, "I think pretty well. I wash around it gently each day." The memory of the shower water hitting my numb chest flashed across my face. She gently reached over and ran her hand across the scar, examining the smoothness of the healing skin and looking for any irregularities. I began to cry gently and quietly. She brought her warm eyes to mine and said, "You haven't touched it yet, have you?" And I said, "No." So this wonderful, warm woman laid the hand on my chest and she gently held it there. For a long time, I continued to cry quietly. In soft tones she said, "This is part of your body. This is you. It's okay to touch it." But I couldn't. So she touched it for me. The scar. The healing wound. And beneath it, she touched my heart. Then Ramona said, "I'll hold your hand while you touch it." So she placed her hand next to mine, and we both were quiet. That was the gift that Ramona gave me. After I got my first chemotherapy treatment,   _  .
I began to feel better my scar was still painful I could hardly stretch my arm I got tired of operation
Question: It was only a few weeks after my surgery, and I went to Dr. Belt's office for a checkup. It was just after my first chemotherapy  treatment. My scar was still very tender. My arm was numb underneath. As usual, I was taken to an examination room to have my blood drawn, again --a terrifying process for me, since I'm so frightened of needles. I lay down on the examining table. Ramona entered the room. Her warm smile was familiar, and stood out in contrast to my fears.  She knew about my fear of needles, and she kindly hid the equipment under a magazine. As we opened the blouse, the fresh scar on my chest could be seen. She said, "How is your scar healing?" I said, "I think pretty well. I wash around it gently each day." The memory of the shower water hitting my numb chest flashed across my face. She gently reached over and ran her hand across the scar, examining the smoothness of the healing skin and looking for any irregularities. I began to cry gently and quietly. She brought her warm eyes to mine and said, "You haven't touched it yet, have you?" And I said, "No." So this wonderful, warm woman laid the hand on my chest and she gently held it there. For a long time, I continued to cry quietly. In soft tones she said, "This is part of your body. This is you. It's okay to touch it." But I couldn't. So she touched it for me. The scar. The healing wound. And beneath it, she touched my heart. Then Ramona said, "I'll hold your hand while you touch it." So she placed her hand next to mine, and we both were quiet. That was the gift that Ramona gave me. After I got my first chemotherapy treatment,   _  .
A. I began to feel better
B. my scar was still painful
C. I could hardly stretch my arm
D. I got tired of operation
Answer: