Let me share my response to that night in the hospital when a group of medical experts told me I’d die within two to three months from metastatic cancer: No, I won’t. Sorry but I don’t believe that’s true. Let’s get this fluid out of my abdomen and revisit your prognosis. I’m still here four […]
This poem, though inspired by some disease that requires I become prostrate to the big grayish pallor of the gaping mouths of machines, represents otherwise the first of several metastatic nods to national poetry month. And, understandably very much inspired by my own internal struggles: doubts in the treatments, one that causes chemo brain, causes degradation of my body, causes me to want to seek out other therapies.
As I look at the many messages portrayed about breast cancer, one might get the wrong impression. The impression that early detection prevents secondary breast cancer. The impression that if one dies from breast cancer they must have done something wrong or or have not done something right. It’s a message that pink is the […]