Tomorrow, I Will Learn Whether I Will Become an Archer

I have breast cancer. But that’s not really what this post is about. This post is about how the news I receive tomorrow will decide whether or not I will become an archer.

The truth is, I don’t really want to take up archery. I already have a good number of interests and hobbies and things that take up my time and keep me occupied. The archery club is the next suburb over so while it’s not a long drive, it’s not where I’d like to spend my time. Still, I’ll do what must be done.

Here’s how I came to find out that archery qualifies as “what must be done.” My cancer diagnosis led me to Audre Lorde’s book The Cancer Journals. Turns out, I love Audre Lorde’s writing but I definitely would not have picked up this particular piece had I not been feeling a little lonely and self-pitying in my diagnosis. In one entry in her journal, Lorde writes,

And yet if I cried for a hundred years I couldn’t possibly express the sorrow I feel right now, the sadness and the loss. How did the Amazons of Dahomey feel? They were only little girls. But they did this willingly, for something they believe in. I suppose I am too but I can’t feel that now.

The footnote to this section reads, “It is said that the Amazon warriors of Dahomey have their right breasts cut off to make themselves more effective archers.”

I took this for the sign that it is. Surely, if I’m am to have to have my right breast (or both even) removed (which I will find out tomorrow), then I must take up archery. Even though this prospect feels like some combination of fate, destiny, and duty, when I’m in the right frame of mind, I can almost look forward to picking up a bow and arrow. It’s supposed to be very good for upper back strength. And I suppose I might develop a skill that might actually be useful in the end days when we will all need to hunt our own food. Or that’s what I tell myself.

If I do need to have a full breast (or breasts) removal, will I actually take up archery? Will I be any good at it? I don’t know. I’m not a fortune teller. But telling myself this, giving myself something to look forward to has allowed me to face tomorrow and the news I’m facing.

And reading Audre Lorde has done the same but in a backwards looking way. Not only was she going through breast cancer and a mastectomy nearly fifty years ago when medicine and attitudes both were less developed, she was experiencing it as a Black lesbian in America. Amongst other trials, Lorde was shamed in the doctors office for not wearing a prosthetic.

And yet she did not despair. Not only did she not despair but in the midst of it all, she left a document, a road map of sorts for the women who would come after her facing the same grim diagnosis. I do not think it is, therefore, too much to ask of my future self to do her duty and pick up the bow and arrow.