more than a queer experiment

oh, all the words i should not know,


that those doctors wrote on me,


swell up and thrum their syllables.


won't let me get to sleep.

(from "hymn of the medical oddity")

i am doing well despite the news brought to me via the wonderful technology of the cellular phone following a powder day in snowbird. i think my panic from earlier this month got it out of me; the anger, the urge to hit and kick something, the powerful sobbing, and the overwhelming sadness. maybe it is the fact i know for sure that somehow, however peversely, makes it so much easier to deal with.

it
is
back.

i flew home on tuesday night following a great day of skiing. i knew it was best to go out with a good day under my skis and i really needed to come home and collect hugs from my people here. i slept most of the flight home, indulging in loud music (what's hearing damage after cancer, really?) and, when i wasn't sleeping, mindless magazines. it wouldn't be a stretch to say i felt rather numb. be it from the bitter cold or from the news, i wasn't feeling a thing. i was headed home. that's all i needed.

it is incredible how seamless the transformation from person to patient is; with barely a hiccup i have re-entered the world of doctor-speak, scheduling appointments, organizing information, trying to think of questions, and attempting to get all my ducks in a row. i sleep like a rock, too (contrary to what john k samson says in the song opening, above). a convenient way of dealing with the shit piling up on my doorstep is to sleep, so i close my eyes and i can be there momentarily, in a dream where i've woken up and we are all laughing at this sick, twisted joke.

so. tomorrow brings appointments and face time with the docs and scans and imaging. my insides naked to their prying eyes. fear welling up as i lie on the table, knowing there is nothing i can do about where the monster has spread; nothing i could have done to stop it on its march. this time, i say we kill it for real and give me more than nine months. i hate cancer. i hate my cancer. it won't take my life from me. that much i know for sure. all these other steps in the dance are just necessary to getting me healthy again.

healthy again?
sorry.
i don't understand.
did i hear you correctly?

i
feel
fine
thanks.