Take Care Your Wishes

Notre Dame Cathedral virtually burned to the ground this week; still more immigrants seek asylum; our country 's divide grows as those corrupt and hate-filled saturate the news with anathema and their power.  Temperatures wold-wide have increased two degrees, and Mother Nature becomes more and more violent in her response.

More importantly, this is the week I was told I have breast cancer.  I saw the mammogram; I intrinsically knew it didn't look good; I saw the look on the faces of the technicians and the radiologist;  I saw they wouldn't look me in the eye,  and yet I was devastated when told.  I waited until my husband left for work, and then sobbed.  

I wonder if the fates heard me when I've frequently said I don't want to grow old.  Frailty terrifies me.  What I'm feeling now is a close second.  I'm at the mercy of others.

I mourn the loss of my normal.  I mourn that a part of my body that I love is now sick.  I see the shirts that boast, "These are fake; my real breasts tried to kill me,"  and while I appreciate the humor, I cannot join in with the laughter as something I treasure, with which I've lived for 67 years is sick and will soon  be under the knife.  And as trivial as it seems, I'm saddened by my soon-to-be bald head, and wondering if I can learn how to tie a scarf, a pretty one that makes me look as if I'm handling my illness well.