There is was once again, the dreaded lump... I've always hated the vulnerability that came with having protruding proclamations of womanhood. It used to be, the anguish was caused by external reasons; wandering eyes settling there, making me feel so ashamed; inappropriate hands groping them in crowded subways and darkened hallways, making me feels so dirty and objectified. Now it seems the shame comes from within. The internal composition of this tissuey mass that rests on my ribs is the cause of my distress. This is the third time the damn lump has come to claim my breast as its domain. Twice before I've had the un-welcomed visitor hacked out. Can I allow the scalpel to thrice sever my breast; or will I let this uncontrollable growth continue invading the symbol of my womanhood and perhaps eventually overthrow the woman?
I wrote this ten years ago. My mother-in-love has just gone through two rounds of surgeries. The margins are still messy so in 10 days, she will have a mastectomy. She has been amazing and in a healing circle we had for her this was a quote from her.
"with all of this love the poor cancer doesn't stand a chance."