Outside the World
Seven weeks outside the world, suspended in a strange space-time — that of the sick.
Seven weeks punctuated by chemotherapy, radiotherapy, brachytherapy, MRIs, catheters, blood tests, burns, fatigue, nausea, fear.
A medicalized, calibrated, organized, protocol-driven daily life under constant surveillance. A body that becomes an object. An object of care.
I have just fallen.
Fallen from the camp of the “perfectly healthy” into that of the sick.
I am losing my identity.
I feel ashamed — ashamed of this weakened body, of this exposed vulnerability.
For seven weeks, my horizon has shrunk to hospital corridors, waiting rooms, the syringe piercing my arm, the linear accelerator that surrounds my body every day — but also to the kindness of doctors and nurses, the precious care of my family and friends… and absolute solitude.
Seven weeks during which I acquired a new vocabulary: carcinoma, cisplatin, chemo… words that sound like insults.
So, I took photographs… as if to create distance between my mind and my body. This body inhabited by chemicals and burns, this mind overwhelmed by fear or hope.
In the end, nothing extraordinary — so many people go through this.
