Breast Cancer Awareness
When I was 10 years old, my parents mysteriously vanished. I was abruptly dropped off at my uncle’s, and didn’t see them again for a month. No one would explain their disappearance or re-appearance. More than twenty years passed before I heard the explanation.
It started when a woman in our village began wearing a scarf. Word got out that she had lost her hair, and the word cancer was whispered behind her back. Cancer was an obscene word then, one that must never be spoken. My mother was frightened, and told my father she was very worried that she might have the disease that, in those days, dared not speak its name. My father ridiculed her, saying it was most improbable, but my mother was so hysterical that my father finally took her to the physician’s, and stayed in the room for the breast exam.
Afterwards, my mother was asked to leave the room. When my father emerged, he seemed annoyed at having his work interrupted for an unnecessary exam, and said he had some urgent business in a large city about 300 km distant, and my mother would have to accompany him. She had helped him start the business some fifteen years earlier, but had quit when I was born. My father assured her that, now that I was 10, I was old enough that I no longer needed her at home full time, and she must once again help out with the business. So I was placed with my uncle, and my parents went to the city.
My mother was surprised to find herself at the regional centre for cancer treatment, but assumed my father had some work to do for them. Instead, she was admitted as a patient, ‘just for some routine tests,’ the physician told her.
She was anaesthetised for the ‘tests.’ When she woke up, one of her breasts was gone. She was allowed to convalesce for a few weeks in hospital, and then my father took her to a store that fitted her for a prosthetic breast. My father then bought an ample supply of these prosthetic breasts to take home.
Finally, after a month, my parents returned and I went from my uncle’s house back to my own parents’ house, but, for twenty years, no one ever mentioned the reason for my parents’ month-long absence, and, to my 10 year old eyes, my mother looked just the same as when she left.
That happened more than half a century ago, and the customs of those days seem as strange and remote as Neolithic times. Today all women should know how to do a self-examination and go for regular check-ups.
It started when a woman in our village began wearing a scarf. Word got out that she had lost her hair, and the word cancer was whispered behind her back. Cancer was an obscene word then, one that must never be spoken. My mother was frightened, and told my father she was very worried that she might have the disease that, in those days, dared not speak its name. My father ridiculed her, saying it was most improbable, but my mother was so hysterical that my father finally took her to the physician’s, and stayed in the room for the breast exam.
Afterwards, my mother was asked to leave the room. When my father emerged, he seemed annoyed at having his work interrupted for an unnecessary exam, and said he had some urgent business in a large city about 300 km distant, and my mother would have to accompany him. She had helped him start the business some fifteen years earlier, but had quit when I was born. My father assured her that, now that I was 10, I was old enough that I no longer needed her at home full time, and she must once again help out with the business. So I was placed with my uncle, and my parents went to the city.
My mother was surprised to find herself at the regional centre for cancer treatment, but assumed my father had some work to do for them. Instead, she was admitted as a patient, ‘just for some routine tests,’ the physician told her.
She was anaesthetised for the ‘tests.’ When she woke up, one of her breasts was gone. She was allowed to convalesce for a few weeks in hospital, and then my father took her to a store that fitted her for a prosthetic breast. My father then bought an ample supply of these prosthetic breasts to take home.
Finally, after a month, my parents returned and I went from my uncle’s house back to my own parents’ house, but, for twenty years, no one ever mentioned the reason for my parents’ month-long absence, and, to my 10 year old eyes, my mother looked just the same as when she left.
That happened more than half a century ago, and the customs of those days seem as strange and remote as Neolithic times. Today all women should know how to do a self-examination and go for regular check-ups.
posted by Dubai@Random at 9:39 pm
2 Comments:
Good lord - imagine not even telling her she was going in for a masectomy.
When I compare it with the treatment my mother has had for breast cancer, and how informed and supported she was all the way, I feel so sad for the shock your mother must have suffered.
Hmm. Yes, we need to go for breast exams. In these days we are offered so much support as SD mentioned, and shame on us... We usually don't have the time to get checked.
And what were you thinking in that month while your Mom was away? I have a ten year old, and she won't let me breathe without an explanation. Time has changed things in more ways than we can imagine.
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