realize that a year and two days ago your niece tried to tell you that you had cancer. before the mammogram people even called. before there was any way to “know.” ponder this. wonder how we know what we know,and how children are wise beyond their years. how they are 80 and 2 and ostensibly 8, all at the same time.
realize that a year ago and four days from now, there was a biopsy. a most painful biopsy. one where the lidocaine never worked. where the doc didn’t listen and kept cutting anyways. where the pain level reached a nine on a scale of ten. remember how you almost threw up driving home, how you involuntarily sobbed like a small wounded creature and how you will never again go to a biopsy alone, much less drive yourself home.
realize that your complaint about that incident was never completed. call. revisit the trauma. listen to the complaint officer being very, very nice. as all are in cancerland. burn their complaint reponse letter in the bathtub. watch the flames. remember how much you love campfires. watch the sense of relief creep in at the same rate the paper burns. wash the ashes away, breathing, letting go, letting go.
go to work. savor the day. blue sky, rain, daffodils. a new decade. turn on the radio. sing the chorus to a talking heads song at the top of your lungs: “and it’s all right, baby, it’s all right.” decide that this will be your theme song for this week.
" B (VII.) There's a city in my mind Come along and take that ride C#m (IV.) and it's all right, baby, it's all right B (VII.) And it's very far away, But it's growing day by day C#m (IV.) And it's all right, baby, it's all right B (VII.) Would you like to come along You can help me sing this song C#m (IV.) And it's all right, baby, it's all right