Internal and External Scars

I am two years into cancer
Or rather –
Cancer is two years into me –
and my body is Scarred.
No,
Not just where they sliced open my neck and removed the cancer
(twice).
No,
not just where they implanted a port into the middle of my chest,
just below my once-cushioned
(now-protruding)
collar bone.
No,
Scar tissue is
where my heart is
and
Scar tissue is
where my words are
and
Scar tissue has taken over
the Happiness Center in my brain.

Hindsight: I Get It Now, Mom

Not too long ago, I had the, “I Totally Understand Cancer Because Both of My Parents Had Cancer” mindset. This arrogance began soon after my mom was diagnosed with Stage 3 Ovarian Cancer in 2008. My ignorance unfortunately lasted for over a decade but was thankfully interrupted by my own cancer diagnosis.

An Open Letter to My Cancer, Dirty Gertie 

Dear Cancer (a.k.a. Dirty Gertie),

I hope this letter finds you unwell. More accurately, I assume—with fingers crossed—that this letter finds you dead and gone. Unfortunately, my total confidence in your demise has been restricted by a single, nagging whisper that constantly threatens: “What if it comes back?”