Americana Injustica: The "Professional" PrognosisMature

Osteo-Sarcoma AKA Bone Cancer

They say that I'm gonna die soon; they've been saying that since I lost all of my hair the first time from Chemo. In one ear and out the other...they have no clue what they're talking about anyway, do they?

I have already defied their odds, spit in the face of modern medicine as I strolled by on my own two god-given feet (no prosthetic limbs here yet) on my way out the hospital door...

they say that I am running out of marrow, of white blood cells, of health...

I say they can each take a number and stand in line for shepherd's arrival, then disappear into the flock of sheep like the rest...because here I am.

They said I'd never live this long, to be an adult - mobile and capable and quite human; overly human from the inhumanity I've swallowed as a "dying light" for long, the injustice of an premature death sentence.

I am still alive, despite science and medicine and surgical genius; I am still not resigned to the words that they say and write and read about my prognosis.

They say that I should always be ready for the day when I can't will myself better like I've seemingly always done in the past with my Cancer - I say Bring It On.

The End

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