In July 2004 a stroke caused me to be hospitalized. While there, an “insect bite” on my left arm was diagnosed as a virulent malignant “Peripheral Neural Sheath Sarcoma”.
I was immediately shipped to UCLA Medical Center where a “famous” surgeon wanted to remove my left arm and shoulder and he also told me I had less than 6 months to live.
Naturally, I sought a second opinion!
Follow over the mating ampersands
Wiser, and saner heads prevailed. Two months later, after my first course of chemotherapy, my left arm was amputated just above the elbow. It has stayed that way since.
In the ensuing 12 months, I gradually re-acquired my ability to read, speak, write and, to some extent, exercise, although I still cannot run.
I began to read poetry again, and, as luck would have it, I had an old paperback copy of the major British Poets. When I opened the book, this was the first poem I read:
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Was it a sign? Was it an instruction? Who knows?
At the time I was only 59, only 25 in my head, and not close to giving up the ghost. I had done much in my life, lived in great cities, married beautiful women, had great children, seen much of this wonderful planet, but there was still much to do.
I did not take Thomas' imprecation to “Rage, rage against the dying of the light” as an invitation to become enraged, but rather as a strong suggestion to make the most of whatever time was left to me. I have treated each morning for the past 8 years as a gift and I live each day as if it is my last.
In those 8 years I have survived 3 cancers, 4 heart attacks, several TIA's, multiple seizures caused by 5 rounds of chemo and radiation. In 2008 I contracted squamous cell cancer in the tongue and then, in 2010, was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia (CLL) which, while in remission, I still have and which causes all kinds of problems with strength, sleep and pain.
The CLL is my constant companion and in many ways inspires me to write and paint (usually at 3 in the morning!)
I love the lightning.
Peace
CJ