In the Pink

Stop!

Before you start reading, please make sure you've read the prior stories contributed by the writers from Vocal Creators Saloon.

Pink Bubbles by Courtney Capone

Pink Roses Growing From Concrete by Tiandra Callaway Moore

Waiting Patiently in Pink by Danielle Jaycox

Pink Scars and Ribbons by Courtney Capone

Pink Fleece and Radiation by Paula Shablo

These stories reflect a journey through breast cancer by a young woman named Cora. Just as real-life women everywhere, she's been thrown off course and out of her element by a disease that plays no favorites.

Now that you're all caught up, we continue with:

Part 6

Radiation therapy had left Cora with angry red welts and then flaking skin.

Ever since her first treatment, she couldn’t get the idea of a tattoo out of her head.

COVID-19 protocols had delayed that plan.

She knew she should just be grateful for the extra healing time she’d had between completing her therapy and designing the perfect mastectomy tattoo. But it had been several months, and she wasn't exactly known for her patience.

“Damn pandemic,” she muttered.

It had delayed everything she wanted to do post-radiation. The tattoo. Going back to work in her own office. Coffee dates with Suzi.

It had altered things she needed to do, as well. She had come to need her group therapy sessions in a way she’d never have dreamed possible a few months before. Zoom meetings were the alternative, and she wasn’t crazy about that—you never knew who was going to show up. Interaction was awkward.

But she had perfected the act of leaning out of camera range to make inappropriate reaction faces.

It was Karen who forced that new habit. Yes, Karen. Aptly named; she was a born-again “Pollyanna” Christian who insisted that cancer was the best thing that ever happened to her, because it brought her back to church. Everything was “happy happy joy joy”. Perfect positivity. Saved by grace.

Cora didn’t have a problem with people having faith—goodness knows it wouldn’t have hurt her to have a little.

But Karen was expecting to be saved—not by the doctors who wanted to take care of her, but by a miracle.

Cora was deeply worried about the woman. Listening to her as she insisted that she'd be cured miraculously stressed her out.

Were healing radiation beams going to zap her from Heaven and heal her overnight? Cora didn't want to think things like this, but she was cursed with an "extreme sarcasm" mentality, and the thoughts came unbidden. She knew her face reflected the skepticism, so she'd drop something, or move out of frame and get coffee so Karen wouldn't see.

Karen had delayed treatment, and was now Stage 4 with a tumor too large to remove without shrinking it with radiation—which she didn’t want to do. The cancer had metastasized, but she didn’t want chemotherapy.

She just wanted everyone in her support group to agree with her that miracles happen and join her church.

Group members had begged her to follow her treatment plan. Many offered to go with her, in spite of all the pandemic protocols. They reminded Karen that her God had made it possible for science to be discovered and developed. He created people who became doctors so she would have the help she needed.

Cora stuck with the group longer than was really good for her mental health, waiting for the day that Karen would finally break down and cry, admit that she was scared and hurt and angry. Cora wanted her to admit the truth of the adage, “God helps those who help themselves."

Everyone is entitled to their delusions, but Cora didn't want to see her group member deteriorate and die. Finally, she decided she needed to join a new group before the day came when Karen simply didn’t log on.

During her last week of radiation, Cora found a group she was more comfortable with. She discovered two women and a man from the old group had moved on as well.

After a couple of days, she felt accepted enough to vent. “She—you know who I mean—told me it was all a blessing. Sorry, I do NOT feel blessed. I feel…cheated.”

Heads lined up on her computer screen nodded. Cora giggled. “”Y’all look like the opening credits of ‘The Brady Bunch’.”

Good-natured laughter came through her speakers.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I guess in one way, she’s right. There was a blessing: I would have married Russell, and then found out too late what a total ass he really is.”

“Rrrrrussell!” This came from Mark, who referred to himself as the “One Nip Wonder”, after having had a complete mastectomy.

Cora had to take a few minutes to explain to her new group about the infamous Russell the Jerk.

“He never called. He never checked up on me at all.” She sighed. “This was the man who swore he loved me and wanted to marry me.”

Julia offered, “Guess he never heard about the ‘in sickness and in health’ part of the vows.”

“Russell the Jerk,” Cora growled. “I hope he hits his pinky toe on the bed leg in the middle of the night when he gets up to pee.”

Laughter from the group.

“I hope his perfect breast-fed kids leave their Lego bricks on the floor and he steps on them in his bare feet!”

“Yeah!” The “One Nip Wonder" pumped his fist.

“He always drank milk right out of the carton—I hated that! I hope the next time he does it, the milk is expired and as sour as his attitude!”

General cheers emitted from her speakers, and Cora grinned.

Thank God for group.

Suzi was great, her mother was great—she’d never have made it without them. But these people, these soldiers-in-arms, were the ones who understood the swollen arm-pit and the tender burn spot and the brain fog that made her have to re-read a passage ten times before she understood what was going on.

She prayed that her mother and Suzi would never have to understand it in the same way.

**~**

Cora stood in front of the mirror, shirt off. She held up the barn owl tattoo pattern she’d worked so hard to design with her chosen tattoo artist and smiled with satisfaction. If it turned out as well on flesh as it looked on paper, she was going to be very happy.

She hadn't elected, prior to her mastectomy, going flat. There were a couple of small lumpy places near her armpits that she hated, but overall, the flat-chest appearance was working for her. She'd been small breasted to start with, which had worked in her favor.

If going flat is an option you'd like to learn more about, you might like to visit here: Not Putting On a Shirt

The title photo is from the gallery there.

This had all been too long in coming.

It was a celebration in so many ways. She’d come away from her latest appointment with the reassuring words, “There’s no sign that any cancer remains, and absolutely no indication that it has spread to other parts of your body. Of course, we’ll want to see you in six months for a complete check-up, but for now—have a ball.” Her doctor’s eyes crinkled, so Cora knew she was smiling behind her mask. “But practice social distancing, wear your mask, wash your hands and don’t do anything crazy. Your immune system is compromised—remember that.”

“I will,” Cora had promised.

Suzi walked in, as was her wont, without bothering to knock. “We’re meeting the Momma at the parlor,” she announced. “She’s scared green.”

“I know!” Cora laughed. “She’s getting the tiniest tat known to man, and she’s such a baby!” She thrust the pattern at her friend. “Love it?”

“Yes!” Suzi sat on the toilet seat while Cora buttoned herself into her now-favorite pink plaid shirt. “Wow, this is going to be fantastic.” Suzi eyed the pattern with interest. "Is there some significance to this choice?" she asked.

"Yeah. I like owls. They fly at night. Freedom, baby."

Suzi grinned. "Nothing else?"

“Yeah. I’m going topless at the beach—one of these days.”

“You won’t.”

“I will!”

Suzi laughed. “Why not?”

They drove downtown to an upscale tattoo parlor that dealt extensively with specialty tattoos--covering old ink to make the artwork more asthetic, covering scars of all types and 3-D tattoos that would give a reconstructed breast a realistic-looking nipple.

This tattoo endeavor wasn't a whim she'd taken lightly; Cora had done some serious research.

Diane was already in a chair when they entered. Her eyes were wide with trepidation.

Everyone was fully masked, the work stations were seperated by at least ten feet, and there wasn't a bare hand in sight.

"Okay, Mom?" Cora asked.

"I don't know why I'm nervous," Diane squeaked. "Yours is going to be so much more elaborate!"

Suzi was getting a shoulder blade tattooed, and Diane would get a pink unicorn on the back of her hand. A tiny unicorn.

Cora removed her shirt, laid back in her chair and took a deep breath. "I'm ready," she said.

Soon the room was filled with buzzing.

I'm taking back my body, Cora thought.

It was going to be beautiful.

This story is a work of fiction based on a very real fight for many people across the world. In honor of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, in lieu of tips or hearts, please consider donating to the Susan B. Komen foundation. The Vocal Creators Saloon's founder, Teisha Ransom, has created a donation link here.

Every dollar helps in telling someone living Cora's nightmare, "You are not alone."

For more information about Breast Cancer Support, please visit the Susan G Koman Website Social Support browser here.

I have been honored to be included in this writing collaboration. Breast Cancer Awareness is so very important, and I want to to everything I can to spread the word.

On October 1, 2021, my best friend lost her battle with Triple Negative Breast Cancer, an aggressive and not-so-common cancer that simply does not follow the rules.

Her name was Suellen, but I called her Suzi nearly all the time. In her honor, we named Cora's best friend in this story after her.

I wish I had lived close enough to be the BFF "Suzi" was to "Cora", but we kept in touch by text and phone calls, and I visited when I could.

I miss her. I miss her so much.

You can read more about her here:

Please. Please be aware. Take Care of Your Pair.