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| At the beach before finding out test results |
I am already a cancer survivor.
I don’t have to wait for test results to tell me so. It’s not that I believe my thoughts; wishes or prayers will keep me alive, even though they give me healing and hope through the difficult times. It’s that I have discovered what I believe to be the true meaning of “cancer survivor.” Below is the excerpt from my book that describes this belief:
Cancer is for those who at some time in their existence did not want to live. Surviving cancer is for those who have stated they want to continue living. Even if the disease is too far advanced for the body to remain, surviving cancer means more than physically living through it. It means not allowing the malignancy to ravage oneself emotionally, mentally and spiritually. In other words, it means not giving up on life, even in the moment of exiting this body. I will know when it is time to die, and then it will be best to do so with grace. In the meantime, I must allow my good to flow….
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| Marine Headlands Hostel |
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| Common Living Room |
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| Ahhh, How sweet it is! |
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| La Dolce Vita! |
My good did flow yesterday when I received the results from my first post-op CT scan and “tumor marker” blood test to see if cancer had come back. It had not. Hallelujah!
I do not have to go back for four months when the tests will be repeated. This has been the best news my oncologist, Dr. Ari Baron, has been able to tell me in over a year. The best news I’ve heard, too.
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| Dr. Ari Baron (Bless him) & Gayle |
If you have undergone periodic cancer check-ups, please feel free to comment on your experience. Or any experience with cancer, for that matter.
Gayle,
You are ever the A+ student.
Have you been out hiking at all? On Sunday, I scrambled the hills west of my home with my dog and witnessed the season's first poppies, surely weeks ahead of schedule. And here's Mary Oliver's poem to go with it. Who can ever argue with an invitation to happiness.
Love,
Carolyn
Poppies
Mary Oliver
The poppies send up their
orange flares; swaying
in the wind, their congregations
are a levitation
of bright dust, of thin
and lacy leaves.
There isn't a place
in this world that doesn't
sooner or later drown
in the indigos of darkness,
but now, for a while,
the roughage
shines like a miracle
as it floats above everything
with its yellow hair.
Of course nothing stops the cold,
black, curved blade
from hooking forward—
of course
loss is the great lesson.
But I also say this: that light
is an invitation
to happiness,
and that happiness,
when it's done right,
is a kind of holiness,
palpable and redemptive.
Inside the bright fields,
touched by their rough and spongy gold,
I am washed and washed
in the river
of earthly delight—
and what are you going to do—
what can you do
about it—
deep, blue night?
Thank you for the inspiration. My brother had the whipple done 3 years ago.
God Bless
That is one BIG operation. Mine was a year and a half ago, and has enabled me to have a longer life. Hope your brother is doing well.