Terminal Cancer

 I heard from a friend today who has terminal cancer. He’s had it for a year though, and now it’s invaded his stomach, liver, and lungs. The tumor started in his spine which is all too real for me. My tumors stretch from my pelvis and spine, up into my brain. There are tiny growths in my lungs and on my gallbladder, too.

 

After I spoke with him, the pain in his voice stayed with me like a bad spirit. I just couldn’t shake how much he reflects death right now. He said people get awkward when they talk to him lately; I think it’s because people are so scared to die.

For some damn reason I ended up watching Animal Planet later. I saw a lion take down a gazelle—and it wasn’t a quick death either. The thing was still alive, and watching helplessly as the lion gnawed on it. 

The whole time I was thinking, “That lion is cancer and the gazelle is my friend.... The gazelle is me.... We just want to get away, but it’s this slow, painful sort of ordeal where you just hope that someone will save you from the jaws of the lion.”

I turned off the TV. Nobody has time for that. I’ve always wanted to be a lion. Always. But right now I’m praying for something to save me. 

Being at the mercy of something...at least it puts things in perspective. Some things have never looked so clear.