So far, I have written four poems (not all finished) about my life with Ginny after I got cancer. And who is Ginny?
Ginny is the most winsome of the four Golden Retrievers I have loved and owned. She came to me on approval, sight unseen, as an older puppy in January, 1998, just after chemo and just before I retired from college teaching.
As for me, I have not yet put to verse my own encounters with modern-day medicine, except for my ICU poem, which is addressed to my niece Sarah and her newborn daughter. I was headed home from Boston via New London, feeling strangely blessed despite the rain and previous worries.
Just recently (September, 2000) this little girl was christened, on the very day that Bill Moyers brought death and dying to television. I was starting my fourth year as a survivor of ovarian cancer, and yes, I watched the series and so did many of my newly-acquired family of internet cancer warriors.
Will this series teach compassion to outsiders? Yes, to some, even
many. Will the surviors and others, including their caretakers be
alotted a larger slice of the pie in the future? Lord knows, I say,
thinking about my ovarian cancer sisters. And me? Well, surely, Ginny
is one of my daily blessings. But then, so is Golly, my old and
white-faced Golden, the family clown.
Let's talk some more on naming.
Ginny dear, if you had been a boy pup,
You'd be Gosh or Josh--goes with well Golly.
Upbeat and cute. Now, what about her courage?
You poke and play and steal her toys, but...
We need two more nice green ribbons, sweetie.
(Riverhead, 1999)
Homebound from the ICU
Sarah, perhaps you thought
A supervisory God, with scales,
Would not ever let this happen
Unless you lacked prenatal care
Or food or naicin.
Funny, I thought that, too.
Forgetting other lessons.
No matter. The traffic gods
Watched over us (amazing for Boston).
And you, the tiny rosebud girl I saw,
You have no idea, tubes and all,
How normal you made me feel.
(New London, 2000)