People like me

“People like you…” The nurse practitioner blew her raw red nose into a white, rough hospital-grade tissue. Clearly battling a bad flu, her mouth exposed over the face mask she’d moved beneath her chin, moved for her comfort. Defending a position sitting on a stool with both legs and arms crossed, she spoke at me

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Count and be counted.

My individuality showed a little more than I thought prior to attempting to turn up the volume to reach outwardly to receive help from others and to reach inwardly to hopefully assist others in need of my experiences to help guide them through theirs.

My Funny Port-a-cath

Today is my least favorite day of the month. It’s subcutaneous injection day  at the chemo infusion center. If you look at the photos of my face and upper chest, the big bandage is over my “port-a-cath,” which is used for my blood draw,  sometimes. Mainly this is an expensive tap into my body, which the

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I Judge Myself through Love

  Every morning, in peace and with the new day upon me, I am thankful for receiving all the love in my life. For even the most radical scientists at the end of their physical lives among  us, individually agreed that love makes us human and matters above all else. God, however  you may define

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Inside Out, Outside In

Pain. Pain of the physical and psychological, and social kinds, became a part of my world as my condition started to define my world more and more. Sometimes, I feel as though I must live with pain, but why? When pizza burns the roof of my mouth, I know the origin of the pain and

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High Scanxiety

With every rising of the sun, think of your life as just begun… Opening a new palette of eyeshadow by Stila Cosmetics, these two lines, misquoted and attributed to anonymous, I of course look them up in a rapid fire web search. All of one second or less later, the results for Ella Wheeler Wilcox, a

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Today is MBC Awareness Day.

Metastatic World Traveler

  I’ve traveled, watched places unfold under me, as shirts from beleaguered cases onto hangers. Many streets left behind and those right in front reveal a tourist’s gift, unspoken surprises. Bread, wine, flowers in paper wound in twine grow more beautiful, As my watch, my time, grows long and further from the terminal. Immediately, rushing

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In Somnia

I. Morning draws up the tired day, yet not even dawn. The barely risen sun climbs upon the horizon stretching Warm fingers that weave tightly into wisteria climbs. Roses, garden royals, heads bob on their thin thorny limbs. Flowers bloom from rains upon our backyard crop, Turned earth evicts a few worried worms. I find Solitude

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Don’t be a Back Seat Driver

My metastatic breast cancer diagnosis in March of 2015 at age 49 did not throttle my world or change it in the ways I’ve read about in blogs and books and in other personal narratives. Instead, my MBC diagnosis changed the way I’d heretofore approached the medical community and the decision process they used to

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