Early this morning, one of three sentinels lit a watchfire, a warning of activity in the distance. Our clockwork mage divines an ambush, a grendel rising to raise an army, marching to avenge his excised mother.
Scanning from atop our well-stocked watchtower, we see engines of war approaching, catapults, ballistae, a troll-headed ram where we thought only a small horde might appear. Instead of enduring a simple siege until relieved by the force of radiation, now we must build counter-instruments, our own trebuchet ensconced atop the barbican to hurl back packets of death in the form of chemotherapy that will target the approaching engines before they have a chance to set, range and loose.
Monday at dawn a surgical strike team will sally from the main gate to scatter the attack before it has a chance to organize, a delaying tactic. We will sacrifice pickets in a blocking action across the winding approach to our castle, trading lymph nodes for time. More wounds to our hero are imminent, but her healing comes behind the stone of our keep as we feast upon the fresh provisions our allies have generously provided.
Our commanders, our mage-generals, are confident if cautious that we will endure this siege given time to prepare proper countermeasures and defenses. Supplies will be gathered, deep basements stocked, the moat cleared, a hoarding erected atop the curtain wall. After Monday's skirmish, there could perhaps be one other minor raid through the postern before our gates are barred, our portcullis lowered, our trebuchets loaded and ready to rain clay canisters of Greek fire upon our approaching enemies. The drumbeat of their impacts will serve as a nepenthe for our hero, inducing forgetfulness, a remedy to her pain and grief.
© 2007 Edward P. Morgan III
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When we learned Karen had to have chemo, everything changed. Initially, the surgeon described Karen’s tumor as “nuisance level.” Based on its size and location, it shouldn’t have been a problem.
Of course, Karen had pointed out a wrinkle/fold on her left breast (a classic symptom of breast cancer) to her gyn the August before. She (the gyn) did a thorough physical exam, but didn’t find anything. Karen has a few cysts so either the tumor was hiding behind one or the gyn missed it. Unfortunately, Karen’s annual mammogram had gotten off schedule from her annual gyn exam by a few months over the years for a variety of reasons. Her gyn didn’t order an immediate mammogram off-cycle, as she probably should have.
At her mammo in late December (2 shots, each breast), the tech spotted an area of concern on that breast. They took two more detailed shots and angles of that breast. The radiologist read them while she waited. He ordered an ultrasound, that day. That came back hypo-echoic, another sign of concern. A few days later, the surgeon performed a needle-core biopsy. The pathology from that came back with an indication of cancer.
I often wonder whether Karen could have avoided chemo if her gyn had ordered an immediate mammogram instead of waiting for Karen’s annual to pick it up four months later. Karen is no longer with that particular gyn since she asked Karen to sign a malpractice waiver after more than a dozen years as a patient. While we never did anything with that piece of knowledge but wonder (we aren’t the suing types), it wasn’t bloody likely Karen was going to sign up for binding arbitration should something like that happen again.
Something we can never know, and never change.
Picture notes: This is a picture of me (perhaps the only one you get in this archive) that Karen took while we were on a vacation in St. Joseph’s Peninsular State Park in 1998. She told me she had always thought of this one as “Sentinel” even before I wrote the essay. If you look closely at the larger version, you can see she caught a sparkle off my glasses.
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