As a child, I loved rocky beaches. I upturned rock after rock; each one revealing a different family of crabs in a house of pebbles and pools. I was awed that these worlds existed, hidden, until I opened them to the sky.
I was always careful to put the rock back.
“What happens to my breast?” I asked the surgeon before my mastectomy. “Is it just medical waste?”
“Oh no, we thoroughly dissect it to see what is there,” he replied. “I will call you with the pathology report.”
He did. It turns out an invasive tumor remained in my breast even after two lumpectomies and six rounds of chemotherapy. It’s gone now. My breast too.
What remains is the space underneath. Another world now open to the sky, forever.
As I look in the mirror, I’m trying to view myself with wonder.
What is revealed now?