Hodgkin’s lymphoma

Stuck in the In-Between

I’ve always been fascinated by those stories of people going through “near death experiences,” like when someone gets struck by lightning or nearly steps out in front of a car. That may sound slightly morbid, but it’s more about the life changing catalyst that these events seem to bring about. The survivors appear to have a whole new vigor for existing. They feel more alive than ever… so why don’t I?

Dear Body

Dear Body,

I don’t know exactly when I began to lose my trust in you, but I vividly remember the moment all trust was shattered. I remember how you had annoyed me with random aches and pains, and a myriad of problems through my teenage years, but you still allowed me to work out intensely at the gym and lift quite a lot of weight in the form of furniture.

Unstable Ground and Holding Hope Gently

Two days before my final treatment, I write myself a letter in my journal. Everything does not happen for a reason, but I can’t deny that I’ve found one anyway.

Dear Cancer, Remember Me?

Dear Cancer,

Wow, I can’t believe it has been 28 years since I met you. You stopped my life in my teenage tracks and at the same time gave me a perception of gratitude and life I never knew was possible. One day I was playing varsity field hockey and the next I was holed up on the Upper West Side getting chemo.

Dear Cancer

Dear Cancer,

you probably don’t remember me.
you’ve probably seen a million kids since you met me.
there are thousands of kids that they couldn’t save,

Dear Cancer, Isn’t It Ironic?

Dear Cancer,

Read those two words again, isn’t it ironic? “Dear cancer.” Two words that should never be side by side, but here they are placed together so carelessly and yet also intentionally.

I Walked A Thousand Miles

I walked a thousand miles away from home—
IV stands and frozen steps
Dicarbozene and overcast skies
With you, the uninvited.

Dear Cancer, I am Sick of You

Dear Cancer,

Here we go again, Cancer. To be honest, I am sick of talking about you. I am exhausted by my unwanted lifetime membership in the “Cancer Club.” Nearly six years into this, it feels like my whole life has been intertwined with your presence.

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?”

Dear Matt

Dear Matt,

If you are reading this, it means that I am not going to die anytime soon. Sorry.