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CT: testicular–er testiculess guy cancer check and rising trout

June 5, 2013

I couldn’t sleep. Today I go to my one-year CT scan reunion to see if the testicular cancer tumor that tried to take me down is dead. I don’t feel its thriving presence. There’s no sense of lurking. I’ll wear my survivor shirt, bring doughnuts to the oncology nurses, get blood drawn, and get loaded into the tollgate that tells me if I will get back into the highway of health or go off road in the land of the sick again–the chemo, the sores in my mouth, the weariness, the fear of a progressive enemy that found another way to mutate and advance inside me, my lack of testicularitis. Me, the warrior Testiculess patrolling the perimeter, grimly looking for movements or sparks stirring amid what should remain dead, and there’s another percolating rise within me.

On the outside of me, I lie in bed at 5 in the morning and drift to life…

The mist is coming off the lake. It’s early in the morning. There’s a chill. The water’s surface is dark and glassy. I’m gently dipping oars and gliding in a rowboat. Looking the the slapping, splashing smacks of a rising fish snapping a floating insect.

I’m that glassy lake this morning, And the snapping smacks on the surface is my desire to live on the dark flat surface.A drive I know has helped others, something The Big C is incapable of because it can only help itself. It couldn’t write Today Cancer Tomorrow The World. Is cancer the word that defines something that’s a blessing and a curse?

A different kind of rising to the bait.

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