Since Cancer

The worst thing that could be,
Has already happened to me.
The surgeon said I had
Cancer.

But I’m still standing,
No longer demanding
That God should (please!)
Take care of me.

Not hope, but faith
Is left in cancer’s wake
And survival has inspired me
To be bolder.

I know worry is a waste,
And I’ve left that hurried pace
Time is too precious and
Life needs me.

I take new steps each day,
Letting love light my way
And give wings to childhood dreams
Still inside me.

The worst thing that could be,
Has already happened to me
But my life is much richer since
Cancer.

Pro Voice

How many days and years,
centuries and eras
will ultimately pass,
before it’s safe to use our voice?

How many battles and insults,
warnings and judgments
will we need to endure,
before we realize we have a choice?

How many preachers and players,
misogynists and mama’s boys
will brazenly insult us,
before we drown out their noise?

How many mothers and daughters,
sisters and lovers
will continue to fight,
until there’s a reason to rejoice?

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I Love You!

I love you!

It’s become clear to me that these three words were meant to be spoken regularly to those you care for, rather than being saved for special occasions, like the “good” china. Love may be as precious as shimmering cut crystal, but it shouldn’t be hidden out-of-site or protected from clumsy hands. Real love should be given with abandon and the trust that the receiver will hold it dear. And if not? Love is never squandered. If it’s met with resistance or taken advantage of, be glad that you’ve had the courage to express your heart’s greatest joy. And have faith! For there will be many times when your love will be received with gratitude. Gratitude that matches your own, every time you have the opportunity to say, “I love you!” For that is the true purpose of love. Love was made to be given away, released into the space between you and another and into the infinite space of our magnificent universe. Indeed, love makes the world go ’round! And, just in case you care, like all good things, love will be returned to you. 

Dedicated, with love always, to Shari Lynn Carney.

Cancer – A Public Service Announcement

I recently learned that a friend of mine died after a long battle with cancer. The news came to me while I was in a blissful state of mind, following a recent visit to my oncologist. I was told that I’m cancer-free and was filled with gratitude. I’d been contacting my family and friends, sharing good news and thinking how different these calls were, compared to those I’d made when I was first diagnosed. Now I’m picturing my friend’s family, making the saddest calls of all.

Cancer takes lives in many ways. It may last for decades, with alternating periods of illness and remission. It can claim its victims after a few years, because the organ it’s invaded is more vulnerable or the type of cancer is more deadly. And cancer might also be fatal within a few months, because it was diagnosed too late and treatment is futile. I’ve heard too many of these stories, lately. “He was gone in three months!” “She felt fine, but her new job required a physical and they discovered she had cancer.” “He was only 35; they don’t do a colonoscopy until you’re 50!” The last remark was made by a nurse who was tending to me during my recent check-up.

It’s common knowledge that the earlier cancer is detected, the better the outcome will be. Having periodic diagnostic tests is very important, but I’d like to discuss another important component of cancer prevention. I’ll briefly tell you my story, even though the details are very “personal.” My heartfelt intention is to help anyone I can by sharing my experience with this life-changing illness.

While I was at work one day, I used the bathroom and was surprised to discover a small amount of blood in the toilet. Obviously, I was somewhat concerned, but I felt fine, so I returned to my desk. About an hour later, I became a bit dizzy and called a friend who drove me to the hospital ER. After an examination, the doctor told me I had an internal hemorrhoid that had developed a blood clot. I asked what the treatment was and the doctor said no treatment would be necessary. She suggested I “wait until it becomes too annoying” and at that point contact a surgeon, who would remove the hemorrhoid with a simple procedure.

It’s my opinion that if something’s in your body that isn’t supposed to be there, it should be removed. Waiting can necessitate a more involved or extensive procedure; I prefer to nip my medical issues in the bud. So, the next day I called a few surgeons for a second opinion. During one call I was asked “Were you bleeding?” When I answered “Yes,” I was told “We need to see you today.”

During my visit, I was examined and three biopsies were taken. Four days later the surgeon called me to explain that I had a rare form of rectal cancer. Luckily, further tests revealed I was in Stage One, but the tumor was growing rapidly, so my treatment needed to begin ASAP. The goal was to avoid surgery through the aggressive use of chemotherapy and radiation. I met with my team of doctors, learned as much as I needed to be an active participant in my cancer treatment, spiritually prepared myself for “battle,” and with loving support from my family and friends went through four months of treatment, eventually emerging as a grateful cancer survivor. My tumor was completely destroyed and I did not need surgery!

When I tell my friends this story, almost every one of them remarks, “I would have just gone home and waited for the situation to worsen,” as was suggested to me in the ER. One of my physicians remarked that oncologists rarely see a case of rectal cancer in Stage One, because people assume they have an internal hemorrhoid or simply ignore their symptoms. I recently read that instances of this type of cancer are increasing, because most people wait until they’re in real distress before seeing a physician.

The point I feel compelled to make is this: Pay attention to your body’s signals and take action. I realize that many people avoid second opinions or doctor visits because they fear hearing “bad news.” However, if you let fear guide you, the news you get at a later date could be worse than what you’ll hear today. It’s been said that we’re motivated by either fear or love. Please, love your body and listen as it guides you!

Turbulence

FEBRUARY, 1970

I was sitting next to a priest on a United Airlines plane, bound for Kansas City and rocking so hard its metal skeleton clattered. The Man of God was no comfort to me. After the pilot’s stammering announcement that we’d be making an emergency landing, he’d slapped his palms together in a prayer position, jammed his eyes shut and began muttering Hail Mary’s to himself, over and over. I noticed beads of sweat were dripping down his collar, so I looked out the window, squinting through the blur of clouds that were pouring down snow. Suddenly, I saw the wing moving. It looked more like a piece of a model airplane than a jumbo jet and it scared the hell out of me. My stomach lurched as I realized something I’d thought was quite sturdy was actually fragile and could easily be broken, taking me with it. Little did I know this revelation would take on an even scarier form within the next few days. As the pilot steered the plane downward, aiming toward a landing spot in a snow-covered cornfield, I felt scared and vulnerable. Which is exactly how I would feel for the next five days.

 

Radio Cancer

As usual, the dawn is breaking when my eyes flutter and open softly, taking in the grid of the window panes before me. I can tell by the shadows and masked objects in the room that it’s time to greet the day. Before that thought is complete, my heart begins to beat faster, begging for my attention. My thoughts start slowly, then begin to race, as the unbidden fear that has become my companion emerges from it’s slumber.

Radio Cancer starts to play in the distance, as if to say “I’m still here…” It’s changed it’s form in the aftermath of treatment; no longer a tumor that can be seen growing inside me, it’s a state of mind that I fight with tightly-fisted hands and all the will I can muster. Or not…I often do the opposite, surrendering to this new reality of hard edges and cold surfaces and the icicles hanging outside that have come to represent me, no longer flowing with life’s rhythm, but frozen in a state of mind that is delicate, brittle and vulnerable.

There is grace in my surrender. I’m not giving up the fight, but allowing a force greater than I am to take over as I let go. There is kindness in my surrender. I stop scolding myself when my feelings paralyze me and I lose hours and days that are so precious to me, especially since I’ve become a survivor. There is hope in my surrender. I know from experience that a challenge can seem impossible, but if I have faith and love myself right now, imperfect as I may be, miracles can occur.

I’m fighting a new battle born from cancer, which dropped a seed into my consciousness before it left. When I wasn’t looking, the seed sprouted into a thought, “I am not safe.” So now, beginning my day includes the ritual of morning meditation, when, for a few minutes I feel peaceful, protected and calm. With practice, I know a new seed will grow and the fear will eventually fade, as time passes and sweet comfort takes root. Radio Cancer may still inhabit a place deep inside me, but someday soon it’s frequency will fade and the music of my spirit will begin to play, stronger and sweeter than ever.

Dedicated to Melanie St. Ours