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.
Picture found here