I can't die.

September 22, 2020, I had the second mammogram of my life. My descent into my own mortality began shortly after. I knew. It started with a phone call to return for another mammogram to examine closer an abnormality in my left breast. I had already befriended this lump, It showed up in the shower a couple months after my very first mammogram, which was in November of 2018. That mammogram came back with no concerns, so I can't have cancer. I introduced this lump to my Dr. He confirmed my breast tissue is dense, the is a fibroid, and I could follow with breast cancer specialist if I really wanted. I thought, well, this lump seems a safe part of me.

And on that day, I became friends with my worst enemy. Myself.

Age doesn't come in years, it hits from the gut in an instant. It is not a graceful dance into wisdom and beauty, it's the slip off a cliff with pure terror and impending death. So, on Halloween afternoon 2020, I learned I was 45. Here I was wondering if it's possible I might still get pregnant from my dedication to working morning wood, smiling with afternoon delight, and crawling naked into bed with Mr. Sandman. Ha, as if. Nope, I should be doing monthly self breast exams and conquering menopause with an educated eye. Fuck that.

My age was defined by a 2" invasive ductal carcinoma stage 2. As I am hearing this information, my eyes blur with emotion. Stages of my breasts' journey begin to flash like pages in a Dr. Seuss book. The young breast, the sexual breast, the hippie breast, the mama breast, the slutty breast, the running breast, the 'look-away' breast, the 'look at me' breast.....good bye breast?

And, those moments can bring to you your knees.

It is true that living becomes thriving when your facing death. We all have our own journey. I am coming to terms with this through tears and anxiety, and, most importantly, a gratefulness and a knowing I am going to survive, be wiser, love harder, succeed higher...I mean, I can't die, right?