Cancer feels far away
Far away
Until it’s too close
And suddenly it is shaved pieces out of your back
And the large scar on your head.
And the doctor is talking about MRIs and DNA.
You know those words. Those abbreviations
You have heard so many times
But suddenly they are just letters in your head
And a roaring in your ears
And you want someone to tell you what to do
To take it away
(whatever that means)
But then the results come back
Benign
Benign
Benign
And you feel silly for even worrying
Was it you, that thought so wrong?
Was it paranoia?
Seeing patients under the knife day in and day out
You can so easily imagine yourself among them
Just another face quickly draped behind a blue screen
And an impassive physician staring at those cells
–that part of you—
Under a microscope without actually seeing you.
Cells are easy.
We’ve been taught, now, how to categorize them
How to count the figures and read the scans
How to stage.
But all the world’s a stage, they say, and when you’re atop it
Sometimes you forget your lines
And it’s all you can do not to scream.
Improvise, they taught you.
Remember your SPIKES and your sutures.
Remember to get your DOs and don’t forget to study.
The next time there is a patient in front of me,
Will I forget the drape?

They taught me well, and I know all the words.
I’ve memorized my lines. But what will I do the next time I find myself
In the audience,
And it starts all over again?