This morning I received an email from a close friend and colleague bearing the subject "[Name of colleague] update." The type of subject, a construction of two words, that makes your heart race in anticipation, your mind wander to the limitless possibilities of what is contained in its content. The type of subject that makes you stop in your tracks, in my case, on sidewalk, roughly 100 yards from my apartment building on East 13th street, and catch your breath and steady your hands.
The type of subject that says nothing but means the opposite.
The type of subject that says
Kids (two under age 6).
How can I hate my body, this vessel, which carries me, sustains me, urges me to write, think, breathe, live, love, play, be?
How can she love her body which houses a mass of malignant cells, metastasizing, growing, multiplying, destroying, thriving, terrifying?