Introduction

The "Hotel Melanoma" moniker is a metaphor for living with my particular brand of cancer. Except for those lucky few of us deemed "cured", all we cancer survivors are guests of one of the many, many branded hotels in the "Hotel Carcinoma" chain. We can check out any time we like, but we can never leave. Meanwhile, let's be livin' it up; and please support cancer education, prevention, and treatment research.



Tutu Brothers

Monday, November 14, 2011

Guessing Our Condition

The only thing that’s certain at the Hotel Melanoma is the fact we’ve been diagnosed with the disease. The rest of our stay is chock full of uncertainty and the best guesses of good doctors. The causes of our disease, choosing docs and treatment options, our prognosis and odds of survival or a recurrence, the biological processes underlying metastasis, you name it, nothing about melanoma is clear or certain. And all of that relentlessly unending uncertainty can drive one just a little bit crazy at times.

But, on the other hand, maybe this is one of the unexpected blessings of life at the Hotel. We now know that all we have for certain is this day and a chance to do something with it-- and perhaps something just a little bit loony. We’ve finally learned that time is, and always was, of the essence. And we’ve lost the arrogant illusion that we’re in control of our lives, and perhaps realized who is and always was.

So, have a happy and full Monday, and sing along with my version of R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion”…



Oh, life is bigger
It's bigger than you
And you are not me
The lengths that I will go to
For distance from your sights
Oh no, docs said too much
They’ve said it all

That's me at the clinic
That's me in the scan sites
Guessing my condition
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, docs said too much
Docs haven't said enough

I thought that I sent you packing
I thought that we had our fling
I think I thought I made you fly

Every whisper
Of every waking hour
I'm losing my illusions
Trying to keep an eye on you
Like a hurt, lost, misguided old fool
Oh no, docs said too much
They’ve said it all

Consider this
Consider this C of the century
Consider its grip
That brought me to my knees pale
What if all my fantasies
Come falling back down
And now docs said too much

I thought that I sent you packing
I thought that we had our fling
I think I thought I made you fly

This is not a dream
This is not a dream

That's me at the clinic
That's me in the scan sites
Guessing my condition
Trying to keep up with you
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, docs said too much
Docs haven't said enough

I thought that I sent you packing
I thought that we had our fling
I think I thought I made you fly

This is not a dream
Try, cry, why, try
This is not a dream
not a dream, not a dream...

1 comment:

  1. traditionally, this REM song fit well into most any relationship I've survived--usually worse for the wear---I guess I finally got it. At least it somehow someway makes sense to me....but I guess we are all looking for the next step and there has got to be the next creative step as we have indeed, created this; what is , is.

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