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Journal
Entries
February
11—Last night, snuggled under my blankets, I checked my breasts as I
have done for the past thirty years. I was startled to touch two small
"peas" that I knew had not been there before. But I had a clean mammogram
in November. So I dismissed the peas, rolled over and snuggled deeper.
March
8—My internist gave me an antibiotic for bronchitis, sympathized
with my chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS) symptoms and ordered a new mammogram
when I casually mentioned the lumps. He promised to call before we go
on vacation if anything shows up.
April
4—The mammogram was negative but the lumps are still there. The
internist sent me to a surgeon. The surgeon was not reassuring. He told
me that it was mandatory to remove the lumps as soon as possible. The
tone of his voice sent a small shiver down my spine.
April
20—Les and I went to the hospital and the two lumps were removed
under general anesthetic. After we came home, I watched television before
I finally asked Les what the surgeon had said. Even before he spoke,
I knew that I had cancer.
May
3—It really sank in today that I will lose my breast. In spite of
everything we had a pleasant, if poignant, dinner out. Later Les and
I made love for the last time with my body intact. We wept.
Goodbye,
Beloved Breast
Goodbye,
beloved breast
I
shall never forget you—
Shall
I ever come to the end of grieving?
When
first you developed in sweet innocence
I
was dismayed—
I
was afraid of emerging sexuality...
But
you became beautiful
My
lover treasured you
My
children nuzzled you and were nourished
I
cradled you in my hands to cherish your softness...
Now
a dark menace has invaded you
And
somehow I must bear our parting...
Goodbye,
beloved breast
Goodbye,
beloved part of me
Goodbye,
symbol of my femininity...
No
Lifeguard on Duty
it
is difficult
when
one is drowning
to
wave to the people
on
shore
one
wants to be
friendly,
of course,
but
perhaps it is
more
important
to
keep
swimming
Force
of Habit
Once
before we went to sleep
my
husband reached
to
caress my missing breast—
I
felt him cringe
and
he slowly
withdrew
his hand,
hoping
I had not noticed.
Having
done so once,
he
never forgot again.
I—I
learn more slowly.
Whenever
I run up the stairs
my
hands instinctively
fly
toward my chest—
forgetting,
after all this time,
there
is no need to steady breasts
that
lie on the cutting room floor.
©1993
Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad
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