thought I'd offer this

From 1998.

Meeting my oncologist for lunch


You look once at me
over the minestrone and
I'm eleven again.


Let your voice drop
the way it did
in the quiet room
when you explained
about the shade
in the x-rays and
it is there again
beneath my seventh rib.


Damned if I didn't grow up!
It's been sixteen years
since we spoke
and it shows
in your hearing aid,
the magician who makes things
disappear beneath dressing gowns,
the alchemist who could conjure
the metal of time from nothing
is hard of hearing.
You tell me about the son
who's my age, we talk about
disease.
I want to ask you for a language
to talk about this, I want
to tell you that I believe


in cancer, in the bloody being
of the tumor, and in radiation.
That I believe in the diagnosis,
in adriamycin, prednisone,
vincristine, The Trinity,
the survivor who suffered,
the resurrection of the body and
the life everlasting, amen.


But I don't, and neither do you.
We argue over the check, and you win
again. Did I ever thank you? So.

Beautiful poem. Love the understatement.

There are so many emotions we must deal with when facing the big C. It's good therapy to put them into words in some manner. I appreciate the fact that you feel trusting enough to share this with us.

Continued well being to you.:hug:

Oncologists are real heroes to me. Its a thankless job, spending every day giving people the worst news they've ever had in their life and finding a way to give them hope.

:)