Confrontation with Reality

Does it matter, where the DNA came from? Wise people recommend attending to the present, not dwelling on the past.

Buddha Frog

There is no more time to think. The day of the consultation with the surgeon arrives. He examines my nether parts, then calls in all my friends and loved ones who have come along to give moral support. He is kind and makes sure we all have something to sit on. “I am going to be blunt with you,” he starts. I am ready for this no-beating-around-the-bush attitude. “The patholgy report shows that you have a particularly aggressive cancer called papillary serous. You will have a complete hysterectomy.”

The Surgeon Lectures

I have worn a shirt with brightly colored squares, orange green yellow red purple, to show that I am a happy positive person, but my face goes pale. My mother told me that when she had her hysterectomy, they left in a little bit of ovary to keep her hormones in balance. “This kind of cancer likes ovaries,” says the surgeon. “We cannot do that here. Besides you are already in menopause, so it doesn’t matter.” Somehow, it matters.

Listening to the Lecture

Am I not, after all, a robot with enduring robust and sparkly parts?

Sparkly Parts

Am I really filled with an organic gooey fragile mess, a mortal, like those relatives who went under the knife for the sake of science?

Gooey Mess


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Cancer Frog Blog by Judith Ogus is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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