A huge part of how I define myself is survivor. I’ve survived a lot in my life, but the thing most present in my mind when I say “survivor” is breast cancer. Up until last Wednesday, December 3, I was calling myself a twelve-year survivor. Now I don’t know. Now I’m just pending. Now I’m suspended like the tiny pieces of my flesh gathered for the biopsy.
Last Wednesday was my yearly diagnostic mammogram appointment. I scheduled it for as early as possible, 8:45, and showed up even earlier, before 8:30. I was wearing my exercise clothes, thinking if I got in right away I’d be able to make my 9:30 Zumba class.