I returned to my daily swimming at the gym. Timidly. At first, I went over late at night, when I knew the locker room would be empty. I undressed and dressed under a sweatshirt, maneuvering my clothes like Houdini. Each night I became more daring and went earlier and earlier. Finally I was changing and swimming as I always had. Another little victory. But I couldn't help wondering: if the incidence of breast cancer was one in nine, where, in my fifteen years of swimming, were all the women with mastectomies? Why had I never seen one in the locker room? My fear was born of theirs, as was my sense of disfigurement and embarrassment. But now I had chosen otherwise, and so my victory came, gradually and nourishingly. -- Carol