Tomorrow I’m getting a mammogram
No, breast cancer doesn't run in my family
And I haven’t noticed a lump
But I write and talk to people every day
Who are surviving it
And every day that passes, I get messages not meant for me
“I was diagnosed just after my 41st birthday after finding a lump”
From the keystrokes of a woman just a couple years ahead
Words like double mastectomy
Sixteen rounds of chemo
Twenty-eight rounds of radiation
Surgery to remove lymph nodes
Reach my eyes and I’m stricken from comfort
I’ve written this story before
A Northern California woman in her early 30s told
You’re too young to have breast cancer
She was “lucky” because she didn’t listen
And got a second opinion that confirmed her fear
I recall her face, round and hopeful
Hands clasped in her lap
Eyes withholding pain
The perfect portrait of women’s struggles
I have no idea what it’s like to face death’s taunts
Give up, it’s too much, it’s your time, it’s your fault
As your body turns on itself, hell bent on assault
Instead I follow what I know and discover
This well in myself I struggle to tread
I fall back to creation, to documentation
This tribute to women who’ve survived breast cancer
Turns into something else
Tomorrow I’m getting a mammogram
And will hear what I hope is good news
You’re fine, you’re healthy, lucky and lump free
Come back in a few years and we’ll do it again