The Power of Words

Make no mistake about it, Cancer is not only ruthless and cruel, it’s also, cold and some would even say, calculated.  Yes, it hints on the side of personal, yet throws itself in front of every one of its victims as though to justify its hatred of life, and even a peaceful death. 

Had I never trod its pathways before now, I would say that once, was way more than enough, but sadly and truly there have been too many to want to count, and because of that, I’m getting weary of recognizing its face, in every crowd I find myself in.

Once in a great while I find myself feeling as though I’ve been backed into a corner, with no way out.  The room is a dingy gray. No windows, no padding on the walls to soften its punches and fisticuffs. Only frozen granite slabs sucking the last bit of life from within me.  A two watt bulb, throwing off the shadows of each and every soul that’s ever been singed by the flames of this horrid illness called cancer.  Every loved one of mine, yours, theirs, his, hers, be all of them someone we’ve known forever, or just met on the street, most all, has at the least, one story; one painful memory, one loss, that can be directed straight back to this tragic monster.  I hate it. I hate it with all I am, and with all the power of the word, HATE. 
  I remember as a child my Mother, told me, hate is a powerful word, and until I knew the meaning of it, I needed to remove it from my word list, and not repeat it.  Well, I now know how powerful it is, and I now know its true meaning, and I have returned it to my word list. 
  I hate looking into another’s eyes, and seeing the fear of the unknown, and the questions of, why me?  I hate having to watch someone I love, or somebody you love, slowly but surely, waste away, day after day, knowing there is nothing, not one thing that I can do, to stop it or even slow the process.  I hate watching cheeks that were full and rosy and carried smiles and words of encouragement to all they came in contact with, sink in just a bit, and where they were a rosy pink, turn an ash gray. I hate that. 
  I hate finding myself sitting again at the bedside on a quiet foggy morning, wondering if today is going to be the day, I have to say my final goodbyes.  I hate this beast, which has the ability to change faces and bodies when we are not allowed that same form of fight. I hate watching a child, have to learn to deal with the torture of losing a Mother, Grandmother, Father or Grandfather. I hate having to heal, yet again.  And I hate the anger.  I hate having to hear the medical staff, apologize for not being able to produce a cure.  I hate it for everyone that has heard it; I hate it for the millions of Doctors; Nurses; and Lab Techs, that faces that silent discovery of an already lost battle.  I hate it for them, and I hate for me, and I hate it for you. I hate catching myself questioning the authenticity of truth behind the smiling face on the TV, when an advertisement flashes for a treatment center.  I think I hate that the most, because then I have to wonder why just her/him, and not everyone?  I hate having to face my own insecurities, and my own greedy needs. 
  Last but not least, I hate the silence after the battle is done.  Suddenly there’s no reason to fluff a pillow, or straighten the covers. 
  Yes, I’ve learned the powerful meaning behind the word, hate, and I’ve now returned it to my word list.

© Lisa Hilbers
January 4^th, 2007