Thursday, April 27, 2017

Cancer It's Me -- a poem

Before I get to my poem, here are a few things that have been happening to me recently.

If you glance to the right of this page you will see my recent award. Posts for me don't always flow easily from my brain to my fingertips so to be noticed for my blog is quite uplifting. I don't just tap the keys of my computer and viola! a post appears. No, sometimes it takes days. Thank you, Healthline!

This month has suddenly turned into a busy month. My daughter who resides in Cleveland, Ohio has completed her contracted work with Cleveland Play House. Two weeks ago, she called to tell me she had been offered a job in central New York. Again she will be working for a theater company, but this time she is moving into a position with more responsibilities, an increase in income, and she will no longer be an independent contractor but a full-time employee.

Today she is flying here to retrieve her things and together we will make the 13 hour drive to her new home. Exciting for her, exciting for me with a dose of sadness since if all goes well I may lose her forever to New York.

My recent treatment went well. Platelet blood counts are in the right parameters. What was unusual about this appointment was it occurred on a Sunday. The hospital has so many patients people can now be treated on Saturday or Sunday if they do not need to see a doctor. I took advantage of Sunday and was pleased to find how quickly I moved through the familiar routine.

Now for the poem . . .
I learned this morning it is National Poetry Month, and April 27th is Poem in Your Pocket Day. The poem below I wrote and shared in January of 2014, and thought I would share again for this day and month of poetry.

When I wrote it I was tormented mentally and physically by my disease. The drugs I was treated with made day to day living difficult at times. Taxotere, Perjeta, and Herceptin have unfriendly side-effects. Today, the anguish I felt in 2014 has been lifted significantly with my continued positive response from TDM-1 and radiation. That anguish comes alive at times, but nothing like it did then-- thankfully.

Cancer It's Me

Cancer . . . it’s me.

Come later
when my life
is more complete.

Let me see wrinkles
so deep
and skin
so thin
from elasticity gone.

I beg you,
the lassitude,
the pain.

Cancer . . . it’s me.

Let me see
my children grow
to be adults,
to be on their own,
that’s all I want.

Death too soon
is death unfair.
It takes from me
and from them,

Memories missing,
pages empty,
lost to me,
by your bombardment,
hard to bear.

Cancer . . . it’s me.

Stop this game you play,
out-smarting, outwitting, out maneuvering
us all.

Unfurl your madness
unfurl your mystery
so others will know
and early steps into the darkness
will cease
because your dress
will finally look different
than other dancers
and my body
will see you
and take back what is mine.

Cancer . . .  it’s me.

Scans show your control,
reveal your destruction.
Each day
you grow.
Each day
I slow.

Stop hurting.
Stop growing.
Stop taking.
Stop stealing
my time.

Rationalization of death
does not exist.
No lessons learned.
Tragedy defines
my one day forgotten life!

Cancer . . . it’s me.

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