Two years since this wild cancer ride started. With Triple Negative, I’ve another six years before the highest risk is reduced. How hard can it be to stay alive six more years?
Meanwhile, year 2 carried thrilling changes.
My mind made a token reappearance from chemo fog. It’s nice to think again, even superficially, although my mind and the sun operate as a coupled network. Sun down, mind off, bedtime.
I’m able to write a bit of fiction and reading is a joy once more, albeit very slowly. Just for fun I wrote a poem, non-fiction in verse. It isn’t quite like getting the university degree in creative writing I anticipated for 2013, but so much better than being dead.
The inspiration for this poem was the “beauty industry” focus on symbols of femininity – hands, breasts and hair. Those were the bits that cancer and treatment most affected, temporarily or permanently. I’ve replace those with symbols from ancient Heraldry that speak to me of courage, vigilance, love, and joy – all better’n being dead.
So, here’s the conflict management connection: when I couldn’t be or have society’s ‘ideal’ whatever, in this case ‘beauty’ I adapted my own ideal that’s makeup-less, breastless, and less chemical. I’m adaptable. I’m alive.
Hands, Breasts and Hair
I solved the markets’ problems with Visa
And it co-created mine with debt;
Advertisers offered for sale
Woman parts at cost plus
R & D, technology, and enhancements
Packaged in smooth hands tipped red
Long hair tipped blonde
Perfect breasts tipped upright.
No two breasts are identical
So one breast flying solo
On either side
Or no breast left or right
Mismatched as any two are.
Better none than dead because of them.
I bought a non-shedding dog
While my own hair
Floated to seed the earth
And clog the drain
My head had pit stops
At bald, crew and curl
Oh I craved that curl
Almost as much as to be alive
To grow it straight and gray.