Where were you when you learned
that your cancer had metastasized?
I was home, alone, listening to a voice
on the other end of a phone
wondering if I was really hearing
what I thought I heard?
Where were you
while I was having it biopsied?
Bravely doing it without sedation
just because I’m a tough.
Where are you, as I’m losing my voice
and possibly my mind,
while I’m researching like mad
hoping
that it doesn’t mean what I know
it means.
When the biopsy reports came in
who held my hand as the doctor said
it is even more advanced than I thought?
My hand was, of course, empty.
You’ve never seen a stiffer upper lip.
The Brits would be proud of me.
but I’m not a Brit.
I listened to the words
“Stage 4” and “inoperable”
I almost, in my mind, decided no more treatment
until he told me, treatment won’t cure. Treatment
won’t even prolong, but it can make your passing
more comfortable. They call it “comfort chemo” and I
cannot imagine two more contradictory words.
I’ve already started to lose my voice.
It is whispy, and raspy, and
sometimes I say words, only to realize
that no sound came out.
And as if that wasn’t enough
to bear
today, the biopsies from my throat, my stomach, my intestines
my entire GI system, came back.
Words like immune caused chronic gastritis,
precancerous polyps and the beginnings of stomach
cancer stand out.
No wonder I can’t eat much.
And through all of this, I’ve stood strong
Until today, when I broke-down because of stupid things
three times — because the van driver asked
me a question, I answered but no words came
out of my mouth, and she yelled at me.
Stage 4. Inoperable. Comfort chemo. Hospice,
rehoming my precious pup — for those I stood brave
and didn’t break. Refused to break.
But a van driver I’ll probably never see again in my life
yelled at me unfairly, and I crumbled.
Sometimes I think, oh how the mighty have fallen, but
I am not one of the mighty.
In my heart I’ve always been just a small
person, wanting to help others and live a small
life.
I want to talk, and chat about happy things,
pleasant memories, hopes and dreams,
and our favorite flavor of ice cream,
play board games, watch the sunset
in comfy chairs with our favorite beverages
with a group of friends who
feel as at home
as if they were family.
I just want Sunday night family phone calls
and visits that seem to come out of nowhere.
But you can’t manufacture these.
You either have them or you don’t.
And I don’t.
My parents had these things, and I so happily
lived vicariously through theirs.
I want one last Thanksgiving with a crowded table,
Mom’s Christmas china,
people by the TV cheering on their favorite teams
or scowling at an ump’s bad call.
But my heart knows, it will never be again.
I am brave. I am strong. I know both of these things,
you don’t need to tell me.
But my heart is not made of stone.
My life right now is so empty.
For whatever reason, my life never entwined
with anyone else. There were no
dates, or boyfriends, or girls’ nights out
or even a friend I could say, hey, let’s go shopping
or two a movie, or to a craft fair.
It all seemed to be an art I never learned.
And while I know the time and day for these things
is long gone
it doesn’t keep me from craving it all the more.
A week at a peaceful Michigan lake in an A-frame, a walk
in the woods, or playing croquet (of the most vicious variety)
in a flat square grass. Somehow, even things like that
have been beyond my grasp
for as long as I can remember.
I never wished for riches, or power, or fame.
I just wanted Thanksgiving crowded with family
I knew and loved, making all of our favorite foods
while some stayed up talking into the small hours
of the morning,
while others toddle off to bed in the early hours
with a to do list that guides each early rise,
and fills their lives with purpose.
Now, I fight the sleep at night, afraid that I may not wake up at all.,
and knowing that all too soon
that will be true.
(written on August 24, 2023 by Jan Mariet Thomas)