work

my oncologist called me this morning.
after speaking with my colleagues, and expressing
my concern about what we are dealing with,
the same answer came up repeatedly.
take it out.
get it out.
let's take no risks.

i have an aggressive form of cervical cancer.
it isn't the one that people read about:
the slow moving one that, if caught in time,
is easy to contain and zap.

my cancer is a mover and a shaker.
so they want to make sure that there are zero
of these raucous cells left in my nether regions.

two weeks ago, i was told that i probably had stage 2 cervical cancer.
i was told that in the next three weeks, i would start
a five-day-a-week radiation and one-day-a-week chemotherapy schedule
for six weeks.

all i could do was look at my three-year old son and cry.
or lower myself to the floor, on all fours,
have a monumental freak-out-panic-attack,
and try to catch my breath and pull myself together.
don't let the boy see you cry.

today? i am told that in a week and a half, i will have a radical hysterectomy.
no radiation.
no chemo.
for now.
(and for this, i would like to
thank everyone for their prayers.)
(no. really.)
(i mean it.)
(because before this, i was a bit skeptical.)
(but this has been an enlightening journey, so far.)

deep breath.
buck up, sister. you can do this.

my mom said that if i can have a ten pound baby
with no drugs,
then i can do this.
and you know what?
she is right.