Showing posts with label inner landscape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inner landscape. Show all posts

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Inner landscape # 17-Confusion

Digital print, 8 by 10 inches.

On Monday I went to my annual thyroid cancer check up. Summer 2010, they had done a thyrogen test and my Tg was 3.5. Not where we want it. There have been 3 such tests and my Tg sort of fluctuates up and down. Made a seasoned oncologist say that I had absolutely no reason whatsoever to think there would be anything lingering after my thyroidectomy and a firm dose of 100mCi RAI. Almost deridingly so. In my face. While I was sitting in front of him just out of breast cancer (my second cancer) surgery. Bilateral amputations for a cancer they didn't expect at all to be lingering. Anyway. Bygones. This last time my Tg is up. My ultrasounds are clear. No reason for panic. Must keep an eye on. That summer they didn't call me to tell me my results. So I went in for them and to ask what the new follow up strategy was going to be like. I had made a special appt for that. Hey?! ... They said they wouldn't do regular thyrogen testing, and wait&see what the marker does while surpressed. That was a bit surprising, since anyone I know with comparable cancer givens has yearly thyrogen tests done, ultrasounds and some have scans. So I asked again, to be sure. No, not scheduled. 'Will cancer manifest itself while surpressed then?' I ask, 'should anything be lurking.' They nodded. Makes sense. Why would cancer obey rules, wildly as it grows. Still, maybe faster than they would expect? No reason for concern, they said. Of course unexpected things can't be predicted, like my cancer morphing into something less treatable, after being bombarded once with RAI. Possible. Can't say. Had bloodwork done to see if my Tg had lowered again after the test. Was interested to know. Results can't be found anywhere in the system. I must be mistaken. No blood sample was taken. Huh? Hey?! This Monday the supervisor comes in after talking to the assistant who saw me (10 minutes) and says, 'we're scheduling a thyrogen test for you in 6 months. Not now, there's a problem with thyrogen supply coming in from the US' ..... Huh? Can anyone follow? I can't. But I'm so baffled that I go home carrying the schedule of thyrogen shots in my bag. Today I phoned to go back in so as to unravel all inconsistencies they threw at me. If that's what it takes for me to get my barings, I'll do it. Hey?!

This image is done using a photo of the trees outside my hospital window when I was in there for my breast cancer surgery. The trees reminded me of a Greek Chorus in Greek tragedy, a homogenous, non-individualised group of performers, who comment with a collective voice on the dramatic action. They were there to offer a variety of background and summary information to help the audience follow the performance. In many of these plays, the chorus expressed to the audience what the main characters could not say, such as their hidden fears or secrets. The chorus often provided other characters with the insight they needed.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Inner Landscape #16-Depth

Digital print from a pastel on newspaper paper,
the original pastel has been destroyed, 12 by 17 inches.

The Shape of Death

What does love look like? We know
the shape of death. Death is a cloud
immense and awesome. At first a lid
is lifted from the eye of light:
there is a clap of sound, a white blossom

belches from the jaw of fright,
a pillared cloud churns from white to gray
like a monstrous brain that bursts and burns,
then turns sickly black, spilling away,
filling the whole sky with ashes of dread;

thickly it wraps, between the clean sea
and the moon, the earth's green head.
Trapped in its cocoon, its choking breath
we know the shape of death:
Death is a cloud.

What does love look like?
Is it a particle, a star -
invisible entirely, beyond the microscope and Palomar?
A dimension unimagined, past the length of hope?
Is it a climate far and fair that we shall never dare

discover? What is its color, and its alchemy?
Is it a jewel in the earth-can it be dug?
Or dredged from the sea? Can it be bought?
Can it be sown and harvested?
Is it a shy beast to be caught?

Death is a cloud,
immense, a clap of sound.
Love is little and not loud.
It nests within each cell, and it
cannot be split.

It is a ray, a seed, a note, a word,
a secret motion of our air and blood.
It is not alien, it is near-
our very skin-
a sheath to keep us pure of fear.



a poem by May Swenson

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Inner Landscape #15-Insomnia

Oils on paper, 20 by 27 inches.

I have bouts of insomnia. I blame my meds. Being kept hyper to keep the thyroid cancer under control turns against me that way sometimes. Some nights I get up and look down the moon lit street. Some nights I lie awake and find how after my cancer treatments, my old frustrations and old desires that went lurking under the surface during treatments, come stare me in the face. I could get awfully bored before cancer, deadly bored I used to say. I still have that, this inner drive to do and feel alive. During the cancer treatments, I went into basic energy mode, I turned inwards and geared towards coping and survival. Now, it seems that inner drive to live fully got much stronger, with an added sense of urgency. Insomnia sharply confronts me with time. Lost time.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Inner Landscape #14-The Path

digital print, study for a painting. Big, probably ;)

5 years ago today I had my left breast amputated. For some reason, this year more than the previous cancerversaries, I'm actively reminiscing the events leading up to the surgeries. The events that so radically changed my body and my life.

But look :) in the photo, where the tree branches are getting entangled and you can't see which is which anymore, where the darkness is most intense, that's where the brightest light is ....