I had some good doctors and some crappy doctors when I was being treated for breast cancer. Dr. M., I am looking at you.
My radiologist, the guy responsible for shooting me with not-quite-lethal doses of x-rays, was one of the good ones. He explained to me that they needed to tattoo me to show the technicians where to shoot the x-rays. I explained to him that no way was I going to carry a reminder of my time as a "cancer victim" with me for the rest of my life. He came up with some good alternatives. I don't have any tats.
He also told me, all unasked, that, v close to my apartment, there was a great yoga studio that had a class for breast cancer survivors, taught by a woman who had survived breast cancer, and that between the surgery and the radiation, my muscles were tight and rigid and, well, I should go. Oddly, since I HATE stuff for "survivors," I went. And, the class was v good and it healed my lymphodema and made me more flexible and helped me to relax.
I don't do a lot of yoga, these days, although I should. But one pose that I learned was so amazing that I'm doing it again, all these many years later. I call it, because it's what my teacher called it, Legs Up Against the Wall. OK, it's true. I also love the revolutionary sound of it.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."