Cancer's Prod
“Do you need a little prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?”*
Autumn 2022 seems to be a season of cancer that has impacted five dear friends. Happily it is not all doom and gloom. There is a little of that too.
Two very sweet souls have raised a ton of money during the past month and I am very proud to count them as friends:
'K’ (Goddess of Creative Writing) raised $2500+ through the Turning The Page On Cancer Read-A-Thon in support of Metastatic Breast Cancer (honouring her friend ‘M’).
‘D’ (photography club), raised $21K+ (after much begging, cajoling, chivvying and, yes, shaming us all) by committing to grow the saddest moustache you’ll ever see (sorry D) through Movember. D's efforts are in support of Testicular Cancer for our lovely, kind, thoughtful and loyal friend ‘A’ who is one of the most phenomenal photographers alive today.
Both K and D are heroes of the first order.
Three very special friends of mine are currently fighting cancer, and are at three very different stages. Our Arts and Letters pal ‘C’ is newly diagnosed. This month he will have surgery followed, almost immediately, by several rounds of chemo. Sadly, we all know what he is in for and know too that there’s nothing to be said or done that will make any part of that struggle easier.
The first friend I made when we moved to Cobourg was ‘R’ — immediately and lovingly dubbed ‘SweetPea” — who has been in the fight of her life for the past six months but… I am overjoyed to report that yesterday she rang the bell! Yay SweetPea! She had a very successful surgery and has now completed her chemo treatments. Everyone who knows her, loves her, and we are all hoping and praying that she has defeated cancer and will never have to go through its rigours again.
Then there is ’S’ about whom I am very worried.
S — an author, artist and activist — recently wrote me a heartbreaking note. Nearly three years have passed since her diagnosis; three years of surgeries, transplants, infusions, radiation, chemo, immunotherapy, vomiting and fatigue. The worst bit, though, she feels utterly devoid of inspiration and, unless I’m very mistaken, is close to surrender. Please, God, no!
I think of S as a contemporary warrior — strong and dynamic — with a distinct fire flashing from her eyes. A modern-day Athena. She has always cultivated and demonstrated bravery despite the odds being stacked so highly against her. The munitions in her armoury include determination, some stubbornness, kindness, gentleness, grace and the biggest, most loving heart in the world. She brings glory and honour to the fight against cancer. But even warriors falter. Even warriors feel powerless.
“You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.”*
Every year more than 225,000 Canadians are diagnosed with cancer, yet those afflicted and the survivors remain a very “small”, tight-knit and supportive group. Each one has experienced the blow of this heinous diagnosis. Each one understands lost aspirations and the daily burden that is cancer. Each one has experienced its brutal treatment regimen and each one is well-aware that the outcome is unsure at best. Each one struggles to trust in the other side, trust that there even will be an other side, a next chapter. Each one has glimpsed Death’s calling card.
Conquering cancer is, of course, the mountaineering equivalent of summiting Everest.
“The hunter, strapped to his rifle,
the fox on his feet of silk,
the serpent on his empire of muscles —
all move in a stillness,
hungry, careful, intent.
Just as the cancer
entered the forest of my body,
without a sound.”*
The stealth and attack imagery are scarily accurate and the reference to Keats, who died of tuberculosis at 25, poignant.
Dearest S:
Do you need a little prod? Do you need a little darkness to get you going? There is so much power in those two questions, a power gained by Ms. Oliver solely through the wisdom of intimate cognisance following her own cancer battle. A wisdom that you, dear S, have earned many times over. ‘Though you may not feel inspired, you are absolutely inspiring. Your strength is epic; you’ve pulled yourself out of the abyss more times than I can count - I know you can do it again! You’ve always adamantly insisted that you’re no quitter, a sentiment echoed by everyone who knows you. Please, please don’t be one now! Which woman do you want to be? Athena, that fiercest of warriors, is in your soul, your imagination, your determination, your resolve and, most importantly, in your heart. Call on her again, she’s never failed you yet!
Perhaps the path towards reclaiming your warriorship is in “forgetting what is behind and straining toward to what is ahead.”**
If you know someone currently battling cancer, please reach out to them today; send love, best wishes, news, photographs - make sure they know they’re in your thoughts and that they are loved very much. You never know which day that affection may be most needed.
’Til next time, y’all…
*Mary Oliver; #41 — “The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac” — from her glorious book of poetry titled Blue Horses. Full text below.
**Philippians 3:13 (NIV)
Roses because S’ name means “most beautiful” and because roses are universally considered the most beautiful of flowers and because they’re her favourites.
The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac
Mary Oliver
1.
Why should I have been surprised?
Hunters walk the forest
without a sound.
The hunter, strapped to his rifle,
the fox on his feet of silk,
the serpent on his empire of muscles —
all move in a stillness,
hungry, careful, intent.
Just as the cancer
entered the forest of my body,
without a sound.
2.
The question is,
what will it be like
After the last day?
Will I float
Into the sky
or will I fray
within the earth or a river —
remembering nothing?
How desperate I would be
if I couldn’t remember
the sun rising, if I couldn’t
remember the trees, rivers; if I couldn’t
even remember, beloved,
your beloved name.
3.
I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.
So why not get started immediately.
I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.
And to write music or poems about.
Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.
You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.
4.
Late yesterday afternoon, in the heat,
all the fragile blue flowers in bloom
in the shrubs in the yard next door had
tumbled from the shrubs and lay
wrinkled and fading in the grass. But
this morning the shrubs were full of
the blue flowers again. There wasn’t
a single one on the grass. How, I
wondered, did they roll or crawl back
to the shrubs and then back up to
the branches, that fiercely wanting,
as we all do, just a little more of
life?