This is about the battle and what the weapons are. For some (and I've known a few) it comes down to experimental drugs, which are more life threatening than "normal" chemo. This poem I wrote (this must be revision #21) is entered in a contest.


Quote:
Cancer Is Not A Crab

I am spinning, and in spinning I am lost.
Unknown parts of who I am are gone,
gone and who am I to be now?
I stand twisted in a web of choices,
back-to-the-wall fighting a dark spider with
black eyes, with hooked claws and jaws.
I will pluck my choices as they come
one at a time, time, time that comes creeping,
smothering selection: can I sacrifice
and become a victim of experiments?
I spin through webs that will not tear, webs
I would rip, leap to the other side; what
lies there I do not know. I will choose
to be victim for I am already prey of those
eight legs that would cocoon me in a shroud.
The warriors clad in white armor will fight
by my side the bloated demon consuming me.
Will this war kill that obscenity, or both of us?


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