“The sun doesn’t rise for us. We turn to it and the day begins.” – Mark Nepo from Finding Inner Courage
The crab is under the rock, carapace touching, rough to rough. My chest is hard beneath my hand, bumpy with scar tissue, held between bone.
The crab doesn’t need me to name it or see it to be what it is. Claws folded and resting in cool, shallow water. Tucked into a rock like a ball in a socket.
“Are you going to do anything with it?” My surgeon asks about my scar.
“Do you want a prosthesis?” Asks my oncologist, again.
I shake my head.
I want to claim this body as my own. As valid. As beautiful. As whole.
And that is mine alone to do.