My fourth cancerversary was Monday, but I didn’t marry the cancer. Cancer does it’s best to have death come to our wedding and walk me down the aisle by separating me from Craig because of drug resistant depression, and I do not believe in polyamory or open marriages. Even with a 25% chance of living five years past a metastatic breast cancer diagnosis I think I might have a great chance of making it. Hope is a strategy.
I began reading “Anti-Cancer.” Just having read a paragraph regarding ascites in mice and the case of a Mighty Mouse had pulled my brain out of a fog. It scared me to the point of nausea. I’m going to have to find love, patience, nutrition, a living situation, and give for the sake of my life. The gift was mine to throw away or get busy saving.
There’s no cancer Mecca where everyone faces east at a specific time of day to pray. If your words are true, come sit with me and share your prayers. Else, please don’t say you pray as a good way to design an end to a conversation you’d rather not have. If I can handle nearly every night in the hospital since thanksgiving except for this last week, it’s okay not to pray or say you even think about it, but maybe you do. So, my heart says, “leave it alone and don’t look a gift rabbi in the mouth.” But I can’t.
Exhausted by breath excused for the whispers “How does she do it? What does it look like?” Talk of cures and tinctures and dragons tails.