Reading the Warrior Poet (Audre Lorde’s biography) and the Cancer Journals (Lorde’s essays and poems on her experience with breast cancer) has taken me back to my own encounter with that same
illness that is still today scandalously killing thousands of women worldwide. It is just over 5 years since I started on my own journey through breast cancer. I say "through" because I am still alive and the cancer has not returned as far as I know so I have passed through
it to the other side.
My own diagnosis was a kind of slow build up from a cursory breast exam by a well woman nurse which noted that one of my breasts was denser than the other, through to a series of mammograms, x-rays, local biopsy, MRI scan and endless prodding of both breasts, debates between an
incompetent surgeon and (fortunately for me) a competent nurse as to the size and degree of the cancer. I went from having a lumpectomy to a mastectomy
in about a week which resulted in two (rather than one) operations and the removal
of my lymph nodes one of which was positive. That’s the medical stuff and
the relatively easy part. It tells nothing of the despair, anger,
disempowerment and fear that goes along with not just the cancer but the
amputation of a woman’s breast.
Browsing through my journal of that period
(2000/2001) is quite scary as I was in such a state of distress between having
a first operation that cut out a 1/4 of my right breast and a month later
having the full mastectomy. Those were the hardest 4 weeks of my
life. My surgeon was wonderful as I was able to talk to him either
by phone or at his office at a moment’s panic of which there were many.
My friends were generally very supportive, some incredibly so. But
there were also those who I call the "disappeared" who could not face
their own fear enough to give a friend the support she needed. Not
surprisingly these were men and I discovered that many men cannot deal with
illness or death. Even my brother and sons could not talk about the
cancer. I was in the midst of a battle with a spider web of cancerous
growth eating away at my beautiful breast so really I had and continue to have
no sympathy whatsoever for their inability to respond to that.
One of the things that used to drive me
nuts was when people would say “oh it will be alright” or “my sister-in-law had
cancer and she is fine”. How the hell can having your breast amputated and
being injected with red poison be alright? And I don’t care if your
sister-in-law had “it” and is fine now, I am having “it” right this minute and
I am not fine or alright in fact I am thoroughly pissed off, feel like a monkeys
bum and probably look like one too. People who are ill do not need to be
patronized in this way. Talk to me not at me. The whole thing with having a mastectomy is about fear. I could not
visualize myself without my breast no matter how hard I tried; I just could not
see it. All I saw was me turning into a mad woman and I needed my friends to talk with me about that not tell me I would be alright because that just wasn’t working for me.
SpainSomething has happened to me, some change
in the way I feel that is enabling me to write this after all this time. I
couldn’t have written it last year or anytime before that. Just being
able to write about my encounter is a sign that I have moved on to a different
place in this battle even though the scars physically and mentally remain
forever present, reminding me that it may but then again it may not be all over
yet. A process has been taking place over the past three years since
I moved to Spain and it is only now that I am beginning to recognize it.
Moving to Spain three years ago was a major
decision, an escape. I had a fear of returning cancer that left me with so many
insecurities. I needed to find a place to heal myself, my mind and my body. I
had to get rid of the poison of chemotherapy. I needed to detox my life by removing myself from the chaos of London. Now after three years I have got rid of my additictions: anti-depressants, over eating and drinking. I have lost 18 kilos; I no logner need my asthma medications, my right arm which used to give me so much pain is now pain free.
This summer for the first time I stopped
wearing my prosthesis in my swimsuit. Every week over the past 4 weeks we have spent 3 days wild camping at the coast. One day I just decided I didn’t feel like wearing the damn thing and that was it. And it was great – I felt free. The insistence that women
wear prosthesis is a huge part of the “breast cancer industry”. The next sentence after being told I should have a mastectomy was not to worry because I could have a breast reconstruction
at the same time. The plastic surgeon would move in as soon as the breast surgeon had finished cutting my breast off. I was considered a “problem” and “strange”
because I refused to have a reconstruction. The idea of having lumps of flesh
removed from my stomach and stuck onto my chest wall to look like a breast
revolts and offends me. Worse still my left breast would have to be reduced – mutilated – so it would fit in with my “new lump of fat” parading as a breast. I really did not want to discuss any of this stuff either before or after the second operation by which time I then had the added side affects of
chemo.
In “Power vs. Prosthesis” (the Cancer Journals) Audre Lorde criticizes the emphasizing on breast cancer as a ‘cosmetic problem’ which can be solved by the ‘pretense’ of wearing a breast
prosthesis which unlike other prosthesis has no function than to make the woman
“appear normal”. This concentration on the cosmetic
“re-inforces
this society’s stereotype of women, that we are only what we look or
appear………….With quick cosmetic reassurance, we are told that our feelings are
not important, our appearance is all, the sum total of self”
For Lorde the wearing of prosthesis is an
act of “cover up” and compliance with patriarchal forces.
“I refuse to hide my body simply because it
makes a women phobic world more comfortable”….. On the contrary “women who have had mastectomies must become visible to each other… for silence and
invisibility goes hand in hand with powerlessness”.
These are uncomfortable words for women
who have chosen to go the “reconstruction” route or wear temporary
prosthesis. However the point she is making is that the decision to have reconstructive surgery or wear a temporary prosthesis is more often than not a choice made by society rather than women
themselves. Women are forced into
choosing the prosthesis route by the medical fraternity and cancer industry as
a reflection of attitudes within our society towards women as objects. As someone who has had the experience of
being pushed into reconstructive surgery and then being labeled “difficult” for refusing, I
have to agree with her. As for wearing a
prosthesis or rather not wearing one, I have found this difficult on some
levels and not others. For example at
home or in a “personal space” wherever I happen to be staying not wearing one
is fine. But initially at least “going
out” one breasted was very hard and it is only as time passes that I am
beginning to be much more comfortable and confident about not wearing one. Now I feel it is a choice I make for myself
the same as if I was to choose between casual or formal dress. But it is not an easy one. To not wear a
prosthesis is a liberating act, to write about it re-inforces that liberation
three fold.
The truth of the matter is women do not
want to see one breasted women because it brings them face to face with a
possibility. Men do not want to see one
breasted women because it is a sign of empowerment which openly challenges male
privilege, power and patriarchy. The
breast cancer industry does not want to see one breasted women as it
compromises their millions of dollars in profits. (prosthesis, mastectomy bras,
swimsuits and various cosmetic accessories cost double the price of regular
ones). Politicians don’t want to see one
breasted women because it reminds them and us that they have done very little
to prevent cancer via legislation and regulation of industry and the
environment. The medical profession
does not want to see one breasted women as it is a reminder that research into
causes of cancer has been manipulated and compromised by corporate greed on the
one hand and lack of funds on the other and of course reconstruction is a big
part of the plastic surgeons work. The more of us that remain invisible to
all of the above including each other the easier it is for the world to
continue in its denial of the extent of breast cancer disease.
What I have presented here is a very
Western experience of breast cancer. The
majority of women in developing countries will of course not have all these
choices, reconstructions and mastectomy prosthesis and clothing are prohibit
ably expensive. Being visible as one
breasted women is overridden by their higher invisibility as poor marginalized
women. So real freedom and power is
about having control over our bodies and being able to make free choices
without being pushed by self-interest groups.
So now here I am publishing all this for
the whole world to read. I hope someone who is suffering will read it and take
something from it however little that will help them through their pain. In October I am moving away from my “idyllic
country life” back to the city. Not a big city like London but a city nonetheless to start yet another new life - and still searching for that "homeland" somewhere. Now I am able to speak clearly without fear. I am no longer afraid.
I found it difficult to find positive non-sentimental life stories on breast cancer - here are the ones I did read.
A Visible Wound - Julie Friedeberger, 1996
Before I say Goodbye - Ruth Picardie, 1998
The Wounded Breast - Evelyne Accad, 2001
The Cancer Jounals - Audre Lorde, 1980.
Because Cowards get Cancer too, John Diamond, 1998 (not on breast cancer but an excellent book none the less)
Audre Lorde and Ruth Picardie died of breast cancer in 1992 and 1997 respectively. John Diamond died of throat cancer in 1999.
Tags: Breast Cancer
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