You have heard — as a woman of a certain age (forty-two) — the horror stories woven through ribbons of girl talk. You have heard about fridge doors sandwiching tender meat; flesh, stretched and torn beyond limits of physics or metamorphosis. You were creeping up to that fortress door, but rushed in when the rules changed to permit you passage, without referral, eight years early. You follow a familiar path to the ninth floor; you used to help the oncologist organize her work (the impacts of exercise on recovery from breast cancer). To organize the people into neat rows in data sheets. In this waiting room — where polished adobe and sea foam feign calm and paper over orange and lime that carbon dated the walls — four possible rows wait. until a nurse uses a teacher’s voice to lead you to a new room, new instructions: Use wipes if you forgot to forego the deodorants or creams that mask your anxiety. Undress from the waist up and slip into a gown (open in the front). You emerge — four queens ready for their audience, waiting, clutching at meagre powder blue armour, staring beyond each other into reflections of your own thoughts. “Well, this isn’t awkward at all, eh?” (You can’t resist defusing the bomb.) A regal silver blonde scoffs at the violent fairytales — doesn’t know how they continue to exist. Not her first, not her last; an errand to run, between weeding and picking up more milk. A mother your age nods — she started years ago, hoping to ward off the dragon that continues to drag her family into the shadows for its meal. She hopes to raise her princesses at home, not in hospice. Before you can speak, your turn. You meet your dance partner, a magician in movement: breast on plate, lean back, look up, reach for the stars and hold on tight. The door closes. The pressure surprises in gentle firmness — a motherly hand guiding you from dragons that may lurk in the shadows.

If you were ever uncertain about getting breast cancer screening, I hope that this encourages you to reconsider. Keep the dragons at bay. 💖
(My results? As it was my first time - and thus no comparison to go by - they called me back for a finer look at one area. This turned out to be nothing of note, so I’m on schedule for every two years unless self-exams indicate otherwise.)
This is a beautifully written reflection.
Love this Brynn. Fuck cancer.