Mortal flesh

My mother went under the knife last summer, sacrificing her left breast to the unkind god of cancer. The uncontrolled dividing by abnormal cells, which raised a tightened, angry welt on her breast that her doctor had recommended watching for over a year, turned out to be an aggressive tumor. After the mastectomy and the removal of lymph nodes, which fortunately were cancer-free, her oncologist recommended intense chemotherapy. Otherwise, he said, this cancer would definitely be back.

My mother decided to heed his advice. She also reached the age of 72 this summer, the age of her own mother ...