This poem was in the same Word document as the previous two posts. It appears to have been written in September 2018. Chemotherapy had resumed in August. Periodic checks of carcinoembryonic antigen (CEA) levels had shown a predictable exponential increase – doubling roughly every 100 days – so we had known for several months that this was coming. (You can read more about CEA here and here.)
In all things give thanks.
Cancer. Recurring.
Familiar light shining through the sunroom windows.
Chemotherapy. Again.
The cycling of seasons.
My hair has started to come out. When I shampoo. Handfuls.
The Falling of maple leaves.
Longing for health. Out of reach.
Acorns plunking onto the lawn.
Potential pin oaks. Waiting.
Fading. Tired. Worn.
Sultry breezes stirring the wind chimes.
Extended summer.
Anemia. Dehydration. Hospitalization.
Thunder and rain. Greening in September.
I’d be throwing up if it weren’t for the meds.
I’d be throwing up if it weren’t for the meds.
Stomach cramping most evenings.
Day’s end. The fan swirling cooled air.
I can’t get a good night’s sleep.
Morning. Dawning. Another day. Alive.
Mourning. Donning another day. Alive.
In all things.
