Cancer/writing Journal #104
I have entered The Window of Death. Sounds momentous, ominous, doesn't it? Especially with the caps and the definite article. I use the term with some but not total irony. When I was first diagnosed with stage four cancer that was of an aggressive nature ( 8 on the 10 point Gleason scale), I was told that I had three to seven years to live. That was three years, one month ago. Shortly after, I wrote the following poem: Steaming Into Port I see the ship up over the horizon Its presence and position not obscured by fog. Its progress imperceptible except that After not watching, it’s bigger when I look back. Not much question where it’s heading It’s coming, straight line, right here. The Good Ship Mortality. It concentrat...