Radiation Reflection, Day 21

I often wonder whether I’m fighting cancer or cortisol -
My diagnosis is survivable, so why
is this stressful?
I’m not used to visiting doctors
more than twice a year,
Now there are pings in my pocket -
appointments, pre-payments.
Planning questions, responses,
I consume medical jargon as layman,
am told my right breast is “unremarkable,”
my left is “abnormal,”
doctors are glad I came in.
So am I, but truths swarm like bees,
I’ll survive but there are futures
no one can see.
The word cancer has weight,
balls and chains from its
histories, uncertainties,
our own tragic stories.
Cancer is socialized as scary,
so patients are stamped,
though I’m strong and I’m smart,
I’m suddenly weaker and trapped.
I write texts and emails
to tell loved ones,
try to manage reactions,
share info fractions, plan actions,
wanting distractions.
Don’t look at me, I am fine,
I will cross finish lines,
but each step is a process,
a recurrence prognosis.
There are blue, normal days,
but my blood pressure’s risen,
music holds answers
and hope when I listen.
Doctors say I am treated,
will cortisol lessen?
Will I let go of control,
no matter what’s destined?

Day 21 was my final radiation treatment