Breast Cancer
My girls reminded me that it is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’m not sure why I did’t remember this. They also reminded me that my life with cancer isn’t just a struggle… “She is struggling with caner” just makes them mad when they hear this. it is more like a fight, they have reminded me.
The past couple of days I have been writing a poem about a scar from my lumpectomy last summer. It’s a little more transparent than I am used to be being. But it is true about some of my recent thoughts. I”ve included another poem based around getting Herceptin/Kanjint, a medicine for the breast cancer. Also, I’m sharing a couple of Katy Bowser Hutson’s poems from Now I Lay me Down to Fight, a book of poems she wrote during her cancer fight. Her honesty and her venerability about her body and emotions that she shared on her Caring Bridge and in her poems have helped me a lot.
My Favorite Drug | Leslie Bustard, Spring 2021
The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still. Exodus 14:14
My drug of choice Is Benedryl—
pure, in its liquid form, and
shot straight into my port.
I can count backward from 10,
and then find myself sleepy,
practically disconnected from my head.
I need so many other drugs
to attack this cancer,
ones I cannot pronounce or even spell.
There is anastrozole and encorafenib
and binimetinib.
But Benedryl puts me to sleep
while Kanjinti courses through me—
so that I can say to God,
I was still while you fought for me.
Treatment is a Guantlet | Katy Bowser Hutson *
Treatment is a gauntlet,
battering at each attempt.
To the victor goes the spoils:
The life you’ve been living,
That you never quite knew you wanted so badly.
Let them stick you, amputate parts of you,
Pump you with medicines and chemicals,
Let them explore you, help you.
You alone are the vision-keeper of what your life is.
You, and your Maker and your dear ones.
After Mastectomy | Katy Bowser Hutson *
I blipped into waking
A skipping record
Singng Holy, Holy, Holy
Pricks and sticks and snips and
Twinges and twitches and tenderness
I did nothing but sleep
My breasts are gone
they did their job
They were occupied territory so they had to go
Will I get them back when everything’s all right again?
Lumpectomy Scar | Leslie Bustard, Fall 2021
The scar on my right breast and the empty space under the skin
are reminders of last summer’s surgery.
A nurse shared that after the surgeon removed the growing tumor,
his tiny stitches would fade to a faint trace of a curve.
Yet, I was willing to bear any scar if it could be a down payment
to saving my breast or extending my life.
Like a delicate chain or
a thin, nearly invisible rainbow arching over my pink areola,
the scar is barely perceptible.
I want it to be a sign of hope, a symbol of a promise
that all will really be well.
Katy Bowser Hutson; Now I Lay Me Down To Fight, 2018.
This conversation from Trinity Forum Hope, Heartbreak, and Meaning with Kate Bowler has meant a lot to me this week… it has given me a lot to think about.
