As Is

Question: You know what feels great? Answer: Not having cancer.

Wanna feel the sublime nature of that? Here I'll give you taste.

Stop right now for 15 short seconds. Just stop. 

Take a deep breath and settle into your body. 

Notice the absence of pain. Nice, isn't it? 

Notice the absence of nausea. That's pretty nice too.

Notice the absence of crippling aches and sore-soaked, brittle bones. Give a little stretch. Bend down deep and get yerself up. Check it out. No pain. Take a moment to soak it up and enjoy that one as well.

Notice that your gut isn't bloating, and your palette is intact. Such pleasure to eat what you want and have it taste like more than metal. Such pleasure to be free of the dread, the possible penalty you will play for simply doing what you have to do.

Notice that there are no sores in your mouth. Go ahead. Eat a lemon. Enjoy every bit of tang.

Sniff sniff sniff. What do you sense? Do the scents go in or do they stop dead in their tracks? Sniff your armpit. Do you smell like you, like something you know or do you smell like chemicals, pollution, like the worst hangover you can remember. No? Well you best be smiling right about now.

Now feel the tips of your fingers. Explore what you can notice. Any numbness or low grade tingling? No? That's great. What a glorious day indeed. Keep going. 

Take a breath. 

Do you have hair on your head, above your eyes, between your legs? Funny how we want to get rid of all of that when it feels so funny to be without. Enjoy that you have that option.

And those lovely little eye lashes. Run your finger along their delicate little edges. Little gems, those are. 

Have you had a single dream or more in the past year? Notice the miracle in that tiny mysterious shadow world.  Hold onto those dreams. Write them down. Say them out loud because when those visitors don't come, it's a silent world inside.

Are you feeling any low-, mid- or high-grade anxiety? No? Fantastic. Isn't it nice to know nothing is pitilessly growing inside of you that you can't beat.

Why am I writing this? Four years in and two more to go. Coming out of the oncologist's office this morning with a smile on my face and a clean bill of health—just a regular rainy Monday morning except for the fact that today I don't have cancer and knowing how exceptional these moments are.