After you hear the girl from
The oncologist’s office tell you
You might die – not her words, her words
Being chemotherapy and radiation – you
Are stunned for an instant. It’s not that
You weren’t expecting those words. You had
Considered the possibility, but you did not
Expect to hear them at that moment from the girl
Who had called you to set an appointment for
You to talk to the oncologist either in person
Or on the telephone. What does he recommend
You asked her meaning you thought obviously
In person or on the telephone? Oh, she says, almost
As an aside, he recommends chemotherapy and radiation.
Could you make an appointment on Monday at two?
Yes, you tell her, Monday is fine. Wait, she says, how
About twelve-thirty, he has surgery that afternoon.
How nice, you think, someone else is still
Before. Maybe her after will be better than yours.
My dear, dear Laurence Anne,
ReplyDeleteYour news, scary news, has me struggling for words. I want give you a hug and cry with you. I want to say it will all be fine, and I hope it will be. I wish I were closer, I would dash over and give you that hug, and together we could sort out some of the feelings that come with such an unwelcome, unexpected life change.
I know several people who have had a cancer diagnosis, undergone chemo and radiation and are now back living their old lives, feeling healthy. Their diagnoses defined them only for a time.
I know other people for whom cancer is a manageable, chronic condition, and who are also living full, productive, happy lives.
Getting through the weekend is your first hurdle, I think. Find pleasant distractions. Go to the movies. Eat chocolate. Get a massage. Read a great book. Go out for breakfast. Get out on the water if it's not too cold.
I will be thinking about you, sending love and healing thoughts across the cosmos.
Love and hugs,
Cathy May