Stage 4
In Stage 4 Cancer, words are hard dream cliches.
“I’m sorry. I have no good news.”
“6 months”
“rare form of cancer”
Movie Land
And yet, liberating:
Hospital says, “Sign here. And here. And here.” I sign with abandon. Fine print is future worry in a reality no longer mine. Just one wish: no pain.
One can indulge. One can be guiltlessly selfish.
Except the slips into the futures of others. Overwhelming sadness. A bereft state is immersion into agony. Breaths are tears, piercing regrets inevitable.
Too cruel, to have only words when cellular expression is suddenly so abundant. The storms of Jupiter is in my right eye. And in my belly, many dances, tonality off, limited space, a crowded ballroom. The walls are bursting. How will I join in? To finally being a participant and no longer an observer.
In the hospital exam room, large plastic curtains billow around me. Giant dandelion flowers printed on opaque white. 1970s psychedelic optimism. Awaiting diagnosis I think these are curtains from my childhood. Odd cinematic visual cliches. The wistful playfulness of the brain. The journey towards final release is full of laughter. Enlightenment. Chaos back to me.
