There was the void
An aching, fluid darkness
How long did it grow there
Pierced from without
Into the void flowed
Cosmic dust and starlight
Injected in swirling galactic eddies
Did sentient beings evolve
Living, warring, breeding, dying
As the stars drifted in the universal currents
In a cruel reversal of fate
The void collapsing
The stars, the planets, the light drawn along
A single strong current
Black hole with undeniable pull
Wormhole with inescapable grasp
Devouring every star
Swallowing every particle
Every mote removed
The void itself withdrew
Replaced by nothing
The former edges of the universe
Become a single layer
A darkness begins to expand
I had a scary medical thing happen, which I wrote about here in the post Buried Alive. Yesterday, I went to have the biopsy done.
My friend drove me to what would have been the biopsy. She left me when they led me back into a second reception room. Even though I knew there would be a terrific chance of survival, a cancer diagnosis is still scary – more procedures, more doctor’s appointments, more expense, possible side effects would all have been in order.
The procedure was explained, what to expect, who would be in the room, the order things would happen, the equipment which would be used, the sounds that would be made – a very thorough and welcome explanation. And then the doctor came in to speak with me – to answer questions, and explain that there was a good chance that what had shown up as a suspicious spot might have been just a shadow.
Just a shadow.
And they would try to confirm or deny. If there was no spot, then no biopsy. Nothing to biopsy. No cancer.
But they could go ahead and aspirate that cyst if I liked, either way. Yes, please.
They used an imaging scanner during the aspiration, and I watched the whole thing, which is as described above in the poem. I continue to be amazed at medical technology, and grateful to the people who learn it, use it, and who bring their compassion with them to their jobs.
And that is how I have come to have needed no biopsy, and have aspirations instead.
I told them that my dreams of being irradiated could wait for, perhaps, another day.
It was a good day to find out I don’t have cancer.
Later that day, I walked up to get some ice cream.
It was a beautiful day for ice cream.