Mrs. K

Mrs. K has cancer
betrayed by her own left breast.
She must have wondered, a girl growing up
whom this breast would meet, entice, love
what world of tenderness it would unlock.

Cruel Fate! No tenderness but hard lumps instead
- and question marks and tears and long sleepless nights -
that wretched left breast held in store.

Today it was my turn
In the long litany of priests in white
- solemn worshipers of Science -
today was my day to stop in and face
the - massacred now - unwitting traitor.

I studied well ere that time came
the history and chronicles and methods.
"Dyspnoea" - shortness of breath and pain
and hair loss - vomit

Yet all that greeted me when the door
I cautiously pushed open,
all I saw was Mrs. K's broad smile,
made broader by the roundness of her hairless head
and all that greeted my cautious, nervous
"How are we today Mrs. K?"
was not curses or retching or damnation
of Fate or God or Luck
but a ringing "Fine!", mustered no doubt
with all her might, all the rest of her allotted strength.

No,
Mrs. K won't be a glittering "cancer survivor"
She won't attend teary, uplifting, expensive galas
She won't sport trendy T-shirts and yellow bracelets that smell like gum

No.
Mrs. K has cancer
Betrayed by her own left breast.