I was literally trembling as they were numbing my breast for a biopsy of 2 lumps and a lymph node. I was worried I’d botch the whole thing. Slow tears ran out of the corners of my eyes into my hair. The doctor wiped them away with my fluffy robe. This had to be some sort of terrible mistake, a glitch in the universe. Clearly, Mercury in Retrograde was fucking with me again. It simply couldn’t be.
It could and it is.
6 days later the dust is settling somewhat. I’ve been poked and rubbed and touched by too many people to remember. I’ve been scanned, all the way down my body, with the watchful eyes of people hyper-vigilant to imperfections. My moods have violently swayed from gushing adoration to devastating hopelessness. I’ve wept in public. I feel like a celebrity that can’t handle the fame.
At first my heels were firmly dug into privacy, which I understand now was actually denial. I felt embarrassed to have to disrupt the lives of the people I love. Breaking hearts has always come pretty easily for me…why was it so impossibly difficult to do now?
Support groups and forums were offered to me. I declined them all. In a moment of diva-esque normalcy (is normal such a thing anymore?) I told my boyfriend I would wear 70s paisley and declared a zero-tolerance policy against “pink.” And here we are.