This poem is plastered on the wall of every single oncology office waiting room, not to mention chemo & blood letting rooms. It predominantly overlays a picture of a solitary butterfly, usually a Monarch. The image then seduces one down the yellow brick road marvelling at the majesty of natures ability to transform. Metamorphisis.
Cancer is so limited
It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot kill friendship
It cannot suppress memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
It cannot conquer the spirit.
What does the Peanut Gallery have to say about this?
BULLSHIT!
Over time, it can do each & every single one of those things. It is insidious, persistant.
It is the cellular "BORG".
It studies, consumes its victims. It becomes a total parasite, a very possesive mistress. It makes you shiver when it is a hot, humid tropical day. It makes you crave the sugars upon which it blossoms.
You should have guessed. Vic's latest scans are not good. The chemo may have slowed things down but tumors are lighting up throughout his chest area like the proverbial Channuka tree (bite me for that!). Wow, that lymphatic system is effective.
Here, someone, please. Take a cricket paddle & whack me across the other side of my head.
I need something to balance out my level of disappointment.
Perhaps a hearty scream & some meditation may hit the spot.
Or some Xanax & .25mg melatonin ...
Good night ...
Perchance to dream ...
...and did you? Dream??
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