WORD BY WORD: THE UNIVERSE IS LAUGHING

Lorraine Norwood
Nov 18
6 min read

Updated: Nov 18

Well, ya’ll, somebody famous once said “Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.”(John Lennon?*) to which I say, AMEN BROTHER. Nine weeks ago I sat in a doctor’s office and heard the dreaded C word. Whaaat? No. Not in my plans. Not now. Not ever. The universe just laughed.

The cancer was found on a routine mammogram. Thanks to a radiologist who trusted his gut and said “98 percent of these kinds of cancers are just fine but I don’t like the 2 percent in this case,” the cancer was caught early. Now, weeks later after surgery and radiation and compassionate care by an amazing group of doctors and nurses, it’s over. I was very lucky. It was at an early stage, hadn’t spread, and could be confined by the latest medical procedures and aftercare drugs. The outlook is very good. I feel like I dodged a bullet.

One of my writing friends (thank you, Debra Borchert ) suggested that I take this personal experience and write about breast cancer in the Middle Ages, since I am a medieval geek. Good idea! Me, being me, I immediately jumped down the rabbit hole. And just as I suspected, the prognosis for a cancerous tumor in the breast, or anywhere in the 14^th century, wasn’t good. Death. End of story.

Oh, sure, you could talk to a healer like my main character, Meg of St. Michael’s Mead, or even a surgeon or physician, but the outcome would be the same. Surgery was considered too risky. If the surgery without anesthetics didn’t kill you, infection would. You could try some medicinal interventions, such as a salve of ground-up wood-lice and goose poop, but that wasn’t a cure.

Two hundred years later, things hadn’t advanced much as this 17^th century recipe “For a cancer in the brest” attests:

Take 3 pounds of new burnt lime, unslacked, and put it to a gallon of spring water and let it stand four days, then pour the water off as clear as may be. Then take half a pound of sassafras wood and half a pound of licorice and half a pound of anise seeds and half a pound of currants; shave the wood very thin and bruise all the rest and put them in the water and let it stand four days longer. Then drink thereof every morning and about four in the afternoon, a small sack glass full. (Folger MS V.a.621Folger MS V.a.621)

Most sufferers opted for palliative care. Palliative medicine contained ingredients such as plantain, nightshade, scabious and rose, providing a course that made their final days and demise as painless as possible. Even so, they faced gruesome symptoms such as stinking ulcers which broke through the skin and agonizing pain. Later, many medical practitioners prescribed opiates such as laudanum. Yes, it was addictive but you were dying anyway so what did it matter. It offered comfort in the last stages of a horrible disease.

A few patients, whether tired of palliative care or willing to risk all for the sake of a possible cure, asked for surgery. Writing in the 17^th century, Rev. John Ward, vicar of Stratford-upon-Avon, described the repeated procedures endured by one Mrs. Townsend after initial removal of a breast tumor:

“Euery time they dresst itt they cut of something of the Cancer that was left behind; the Chirugians were for applying a Caustick but Doctor Needham said no not till the last time she could indure the knife. They praepard her body somewhat he let her blood the day before; Shee indured it with infinite patience all along, not offring to lay her hand vppon itt to wash itt but a warme cloth to the other breast all the time” (Folger MS V.a.287, fol. 99v).

For those of us who have had breast cancer or known someone with breast cancer, these accounts can be tough to read. My heart aches for the women who suffered long ago. Thankfully, we’ve made great strides in treatment in the 21^st century.

P.S. Since my experience, I’ve become an evangelist for mammograms. Don’t wait. Do it now, no matter how old you are. No excuses.

P.P.S. I wish I could live another thousand years so I could see what people in the future will say about radiation and chemotherapy. I’m sure they will be appalled at our barbaric treatments. So don’t laugh about goose poop.

*The quote is most famously attributed to John Lennon in his song "Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy)" in 1980. but it was originally written by Allan Saunders in a 1957 edition of Reader’s Digest.

I HAVE A SHORT STORY COMING OUT IN THE FEISTY DEEDS II ANTHOLOGY

Knocking acorns out of the oak trees. Month of November, from Très Riches Heures des Duc de Berry.

I’m happy to share the news that my short story “Feast and Famine” will appear in the Women’s Fiction Writers Association (WFWA) second anthology of Feisty Women.

The book will be published on December 12th and available for sale as an e-book and paperback.

In the meantime, here is a taste of my story, which is a prequel to my book, The Solitary Sparrow. The year is 1320. The place is the village of St. Michael’s Mead in Warwickshire, England. The date is November 11, St. Martinmas Day.

It was a fine day for slaughter.

A bitter wind had blown most of the night, rattling the shutters like shivering teeth, and chasing away memories of last summer’s balmy days. Now this morning the ground was frozen and the sky was a rich blue. The old folks always said it was best to slaughter the pigs on a cold St. Martin’s Day. It was a day of hard work, full bellies, and stocking up for the winter. In years past, Meg looked forward to the feasting and dancing with excitement, but not today.

With a heaviness of spirit, she prodded the pigs out of their pen. She switched them past the cottages and the millpond to the killing field where tables were set under a wizened oak tree, its lowest limb serving as the hanging post for the poor beasts. As she approached the villagers, busy at the boiling cauldrons, she pulled her hood against her face to hide her deformity.

Each year she named the piglets, studied their tricks and foibles, watched them grow, and fattened them on acorns before each Martinmas. She was told each year to bring a few to the killing tree to be butchered and stored for the winter. The people of St. Michael’s Mead had to eat or they would die. The Reeve had cornered Meg last week. “All the pigs, do you understand? I shall count them and if one is missing . . .”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

Oh yes, she understood. But she did not have to like it. She would lead all the pigs to their deaths. That is, all but one.

Little Robin.

Here’s a sneak peek of the cover. See the little pig on the left? Yep, that’s Robin. All sales of the book go directly to WFWA scholarship program. I’ll send another announcement when the book goes live.

ISN'T THIS GORGEOUS?

This is the trophy I received for winning the WFWA award. I was expecting something like your average bowling trophy, but NO – this is glass and is beautiful. It sits on my desk to remind me of possibilities when the devil Imposter Syndrome grabs me.

OTHER BITS AND BOBS JUST FOR FUN:

Live Cornell Lab FeederWatch Cam at Sapsucker Woods:

My oldest daughter suggested I listen to the link below while I write. Yes! It’s wonderful. (Thank you, Meredith.) The FeederWatch cam is located in the Treman Bird Feeding Garden at the Cornell Lab of Ornithology in Ithaca, New York. Perched on the edge of both Sapsucker Woods and its 10-acre pond, these feeders attract both forest species like chickadees and woodpeckers as well as some species that prefer open environments near water like Red-winged Blackbirds. Watch LIVE at http://AllAboutBirds.org/CornellFeeders

The We Do Not Care Club:

“We do not care what our hair looks like from the back, we cannot see the back.” If you are peri-menopausal, menopausal, post-menopausal or just in a bad mood, join the We Do Not Care Club but be prepared to giggle until water comes out of your eyes. https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=1368247855303379

Melani Sanders has obviously touched a nerve with women all over the world. She now has over 4 million followers. Her book The Official We Do Not Care Club Handbook will be published on Jan. 13, 2026 and is available for preorder.

That’s all for November. In the next couple of weeks I’ll be sending a stand-alone curated list of good Christmas buys for readers and writers. Watch this space.

Take care, remember those mammograms, and be grateful . . .

Also, thank you for reading.