Tag: writing

As we enter World Cancer Day, how I wish this were a topic that we could just sweep under the carpet. Unfortunately, when faced with cancer, it’s unavoidable. It will not bring out a Pollyanna in me. It has had too strong an effect on my family and friends.

Therefore, pausing for thought for one full day becomes significant. What has cancer done to change our lives? What losses have we experienced? Is there any year that passes without your considering cancer as a potential cause for an ill feeling?

Cancer is sneaky. It worms its way into the body without invitation. I mean, last time I checked, I don’t recall asking it to visit my family members, yet here it came and did not want to leave. My sister had lung cancer. She had not smoked for years, realizing it was not serving her a purpose more important than life. Hearing she possessed this was unexpected.

Yes, it responded to treatment, including partial lung removal, chemotherapy, and radiation therapy. Despite all she went through, she had a positive demeanor, believing in believing. Technically, the treatment cured her. Her doctor told her it would be something else that would take her, not cancer. She could travel to Alaska from our home in North Carolina and spend time with her daughter, son-in-law, and grandchildren. For this, I am grateful. And I cherish the time we had together before she moved to Alaska. She ended up with a few short years before she passed away. Her heart had spent enough time on earth.

Has cancer affected you? What is your story?

As a caregiver for more than one cancer patient, I wrote this poem, based on personal experience.

Hearts to Hands

As you lay in the hospital bed I was lost.

You were jaundiced, dying, and needing care.

You looked into my eyes:

“my feet are cold”

Gently placing my hands on your feet,

feeling the thin parchment like skin,

and observing the golden glow of jaundice.

Mixing Vaseline with hospital lotion,

then warming the mixture in my hands.

Massaging your soles, arches,

and rounding to the dorsum

such warm flows, energy exchanges.

Stretching each toe, kneading the pads, some pop.

Our smiling eyes connect as softness pervades.

Warming your fuzzy slippers on the heater,

scrunching and easing them on your warm, softened feet.

Just standing with hands on your covered feet,

having a private moment,

energy pouring from my hands and exchanging hearts.

How I wish that moment would heal you.

Even if a new day meant another treatment.

Each day is the chance to show you how much I love you.

I do and you love me too.

Words did not have to be said.

I knew it when you looked at me and said,

“my feet are cold.”

Previously published in Fine Lines Literary Journal

As depicted in this video, cancer is life “the thief in the night.” I would encourage you to view this and reflect.