My father’s heavy hand pushed on the back of my neck, to hush me, get me down, and be quiet.

It’s okay now. Stand up. You don’t have to feel less than, unworthy, or not good enough.

MY DIAGNOSIS SEEN AND UNSEEN BY JERRI HARRELL

34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 74

I was held like a prisoner.

I knew the drill: remove all clothes above waist, put on patient gown, sit and sit and sit in the waiting room until name called.

Then arms up, down, side, squeeze,…

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