Tag: cancer personal essay

Canferatu: The Prequel

In which our heroine finds herself clutched in the monster’s filthy, razor sharp claws, afraid for her life. Introduction: The scripting process begins and ends This narrative slowly opens and possibly took several years for the writer to realize the finished script. Editing the story of a life continues beyond publication, past the timeline of

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Peace, Peace: our universe of caregivers

Traversing my inner space wearing the lens of metastatic disease, my inner eye wanders into dark places at times. The glasses have me reading invisibilities into ideas that have no real importance. Ideas such as what my life’s purpose what could I possibly serve the world when at the moment I was diagnosed with #metastatic breast cancer three years ago, my needs far outweigh my ability to give. Many days my questions return only an inner sigh of response. My contributions and defining myself and my roles becomes so foggy, so unclear to me.

And now, Ms. Cancer and Mr. Depression

How does one learn to reason with depression? I’d like to share with you a story about a confused partner who after the passing of her arbitrary three-year deadline falls into s state of incredible aftermath. She unreasonably and unfortunately becomes inconsolable with wave after wave of ugly accusations hurled from across a house she lives in with this depressed man who she no longer knows, or even knows what she feels for him anymore.

Lessons from the Present

Some of us arrive here for a respite from of a world severed from it’s once well mapped out future, now thrust into the cancer culture where we’ve a lot to share with each other. Care giver or cancer survivor we can walk hand and hand. We step to a rhythm of head nods of recognition as we see of ourselves in one another. That circle containing every one of us who still proves that we can live on as a reluctant card carrying member of Club Cancer.

Son of a Canferatu

From Werner Herzog’s remake with Klaus Kinski as Nosferatu, based mostly on the silent Murnau adaptation of the Stoker novel, I leave you with a quote, and one that says maybe it’s not Lucy with whom I should resonate, but the monster himself:
“To be unable to grow old is terrible… Death is not the worst…”

Friendship, Cancer, and The Jokers

Hey, congratulations you’ve got stage IV cancer of the breast and bone lesions. Well, that explains why I wasn’t feeling so well. I recall receiving an email right before that most horrible week from a good friend and the email required my immediate attention. My attention won’t relate to anything at all back then when I had the diagnosis come down on me so hard I didn’t know when or where I was in the scheme of life. I don’t think I even opened email from back then yet. It sits, unread in my inbox – all of it.

Cancer: you don’t know shit from Shinola

Brunch. Sex. A drive. Shop for antiques. Take in a movie. Chilly out? I got sweaters and coats! Sex. Nap. Dinner. Goodnight. That was then. Get going about 11. Take pills. Put on clothes. Determine whether or not my energy level allows for an outing. Decide to stay home. Make brunch for husband. Sit down.

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