We never know how high we are Until we are asked to rise And then if we are true to form Our statures touch the skies Emily Dickinson from poem 1176 Happiness: an illusive inner state to those of us with terminal illnesses. Each happy moment rolls into the next, yet we drive through life […]
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.
What is the Mystery Award? Wow an award, so unexpected and so cool. I can’t say I’m not happy to receive the award, though it’s a mystery to me that my words have touched someone enough to nominate my blog. Lahla Brain Cancer Freeish, my nomintatrix to you I am grateful for this award and […]
Bravery on the precipice of the end of life. British woman who exhausted clinical trials for metastatic lung cancer died the next day after recording this podcast for the BBC. I’m not afraid of death – my belief is this gift of life in our physical manifestation of consciousness is bookended by not being. I’m […]