And then one day cancer arrives on your door step

Day 215

(Note: The person in my life recently diagnosed with cancer wishes to remain un-named at this point. If you know who it is, and some of you do, please help me keep it a bit hush hush for now. Thank you for your support.)

photo by Michelle Johnsen

photo by Michelle Johnsen

And then one day cancer arrives

on your doorstep,

eager,

like an awkward party guest no one thought to invite.

In the form of a cluster of cells

in the breast of someone you love very much.

A worrisome pattern

on the grainy image of the mammogram.

Some dots, some lines,

Dot, dot, dash.

Dash, dash, dot.

A morse code

from a far off land,

a signal that something is wrong.

No larger than a grape,

it rattles the windows,

and bangs on the doors,

this strange illness, this awkward guest,

so that everything is the same, yet changed.

The couches and chairs in the same spots,

the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.

But suddenly everything looks different,

and even as you play, and make dinner, and take the dogs around the block,

there’s something lurking in the periphery,

a shadow darkening the corners,

the cold wind of worry on a hot, sunny day.

But I understand it, in a way, this cancer.

I hear its message loud and clear.

Something is very wrong with the way we are living,

poisoned water, poisoned air, poisoned soil, poisoned food.

Chemicals that change our DNA,

damage the delicate double helix strands that make us who we are,

that make us what we are,

so that the very building blocks of life are toppled

as if by a toddler’s chubby hands,

and we are left with scars and missing pieces

where we were whole before.

I can think of no stronger message

than our own cells turning against us.

Bones, and breasts, and organs, and brains, and skin, and muscles

fighting for survival.

Bodies turned battlegrounds.

Civilization strikes again,

this time very close to home.

Thank you for listening,

Love,

Natasha

photo by Wilson Alvarez

photo by Wilson Alvarez

 

 

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3 responses to “And then one day cancer arrives on your door step

  1. We are here with you.
    All our love. I wish so badly I could hug you right now.

  2. sending you all the love i can muster.

  3. Love you all and thinking of you

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