tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77601211225952472212011-12-18T15:34:30.931-08:00A cancer journalJoséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.comBlogger61100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-74777419462290699762010-10-15T22:40:00.001-07:002010-10-15T23:38:43.795-07:00

An old friend contacted me through facebook after 40 years and rather than tell her about my cancer last year I pointed her to this blog. And so I realized that perhaps I should bring it up to date.As I was going into treatment, I promised, and intended, to "write my way" through it. I did not, and there is a reason for it: I could not.I know the doctors told me beforehand it would impact me

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-31335886414669970422009-06-13T14:57:00.000-07:002009-06-14T06:23:28.706-07:00

There is a moment in a certain type of story where various seemingly or actually unrelated strands start to come together. Soon it becomes clear they are revolving around a common center of gravity, and as the orbits become faster and tighter, they press towards a singular, inescapable outcome.The name I give to such a moment is "the quickening," though this usage has little or nothing to do with

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-20075510067589334352009-05-24T14:07:00.001-07:002009-05-25T10:36:53.764-07:00

I never stopped to consider whether it would be difficult or easy. As soon as I found out I might have cancer, I knew there would be only one way I might survive it: to write my way through it. It's what I do. What I have always done. Who I am.When I was younger, decades ago, I think I wrote things in my mind, or in poems. Since word processing came into my life 25 years ago, I've actually

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-76726665155638522162009-05-24T08:01:00.001-07:002009-05-24T10:09:22.513-07:00

It was Tuesday the 19th,  the day before the biopsy, that Yolanda from the scheduling office called. I was at the salvation army thrift store, a little after 11, had just gotten off work. In 23 hours I'd be showing up to be gassed and carved.The doctor had had a cancellation. Would I like the first slot for the day? I'd have to be there at 5:30 AM. Checked with my best friend, who is taking me ..

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-3144200236057546412009-05-24T07:48:00.000-07:002009-05-24T07:52:35.684-07:00

It's now the next weekend. It was the 12th when the ENT saw me. He stuck a tube up my nose, stuck fiungers down my throat so far it made me gag, told me he was pretty sure it was cancer, the real question being, how bad? He will be doing a biopsy next Wednesday. Despite my illusions about this being an extreme emergency, with every day that goes by a chance for the cancer to spread, no one

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7760121122595247221.post-12140464624135658542009-05-24T07:42:00.000-07:002009-05-24T07:45:38.883-07:00

It is now Sunday, May 10. It was Thursday when my doctor told me the results of the CT scan -- I had a suspicious mass on or near my left tonsil, and needed to see a specialist right away. And she mentioned the "C" word.I had known for weeks the lump was there. She detected it during my annual physical by feeling and poking my neck. Back then it didn't seem so worrying. She sent me for an

Joséhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337211316662987766noreply@blogger.com0