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Shades of My Survival

by Mary Porcher Sorens

[Editor's note: Mary is a 32-year-old osteosarcoma survivor and the founder of the Adult Bone Cancer online support group. She had given us the gift of collection of her poems which she calls "Shades of My Survival". She has accompanied some of the poems with a photograph. Mary recently wrote to me, "The path of survivorship can be difficult to navigate. Around each corner there is new hope - or new loss. This poetry collection is dedicated to the patients, survivors, and loved-ones who have shared their lives with me and, in the process, have helped me to accept and treasure my own path.]

Hope

November 3, 2003 – Five days after diagnosis

hope remains undeterred.

she pulls on her jeans, ties her boots

and walks out the door for another test.

she glows below the autumn trees

feet hitting pavement as they’ve always done.

hope is my best friend,

sometimes i’m unsure if she’s beside me or within me

if these boots are mine or hers.

The Lake

November 7, 2003 - Eight days after diagnosis

I am pacing, have been pacing beside this lake for hours, for days. The water is black; the grass beneath my feet is green. There are pine trees lining the banks across the way, and a few limbs hang high above my head. At night, the stars are bright and clear. During the day, the sun shines as through binoculars.

The pacing has me tired and out of breath; my chest feels tight. I am scared of the water, even though it’s warm outside.

The surface of the lake holds all of the colors of my life, and most of the colors mark specific moments and people. In those colors I see friends, loved ones, special events. Certain people have their own section of the lake’s surface, with their own unique colors. One of the memories stands out…it was July 4, and I was swimming with three friends. Fireworks were blazing in the distance, I could hear the water lapping in my ears, laughter bubbling occasionally.

Other parts of the lake are things that will happen in the future. Intuition has given me a glimpse of them, possibilities, probabilities, and definites. These things are cause for the pacing. They are real, and I am scared.

I become convinced that even though some of the lake’s surface is painful, it’s all supposed to be there. And I realize that the different sections need something to bring them all together; the lake is waiting for something to make things complete.

And I know I must jump in and swim, swim for hours or days…feel the cool wash over me, feel the uncertain depths below me. Swimming will mix the colors all together perfectly. The surface of the lake will be a watercolor, and I’ll float just like when I was a little girl.

Then God calls me with a simple phrase: “I Am.” My need to pace disappears, and I am swimming.

Now I can sleep.

Invisible

2003

so this is it, my battleground.

i don't want to be here.

the fog was just starting to clear

when i realized where i stood.

i've been here a few days

soaking in my own sadness.

this earth feels so foreign to me

the words they use make my mind race

grasping to comprehend connotations.

the strength rises within me

and i want to fight...but what?

they keep telling me to wait

a few more tests, a few more days

but what if it kills me?

no one understands the urgency;

people sitting in chairs see me as a chart

a collection of papers.

i dutifully walk from one doctor to the next

keeping appointments, writing down questions.

does anyone know how this feels?

i want my life back.

Determination

January 28, 2004

i am more

than your diagnosis, your stack of papers

piles of images of the inside of me.

i am more than a patient,

bigger than this disease that is not me.

my soul is growing faster

than that which drains me,

my spirit is rising quicker

than the painful days are passing,

this seed of strength deep down

that feels so small

is harder than everyone thinks,

and my smile is more resilient than this wall.

watch; i'll show you.

i'll get my life back.

Birthday

October 31, 2004

the year of surgeries and scans,

margins and morphine, is gone!

*poof*

another October is here

with its pumpkin memories

baking cakes and blowing out candles.

i love to celebrate my birth,

and the day that i met Jesus

and all of the friends i've loved

as the leaves began to fall.

and now there is one more piece

to the best month of my life,

in 2003 i had cancer

and in 2004 it was gone.

Fall in New Haven

November 3rd, 2004 - In physical therapy, working full time, happy to be alive, daily pain with hopes that it will improve

the leaves are spinning today,

bright yellow pieces

of my favorite shirt

fall to the road,

blowing in circles

like mini-tornados.

i wish i could give you

today in new haven,

something you’ve never seen.

the cold breeze,

the smell of these trees and the

last burst of life

’til the freezing of time.

Less Time

November 14th, 2004

maybe my feet will fly

out from under this desk

i’ll grab my bag, get my keys

and run grinning from this gun shop.

give me cancer

and i’ll give you a run for your money.

as long as i have this arm i’ll

take a thousand pictures of your planet,

write a hundred verses just to

celebrate these sightings of you

Disappointment

February 25th, 2005 – Realizing that over a year of physical therapy has done little for my arm.

it could be a while.

i’m sitting here staring at a broken basket

and all the precious eggs on the floor.

it was never strong enough for them, but the only way to know was to try.

i tried so hard.

Grief

April 25, 2005 – Disability and pain

i do not know how to live in this place

between hope and ache.

in one moment i receive a gift

then feel fresh what has gone.

it is gone, torn away from me

while i was helpless asleep

and i am left holding my hope,

bleeding, up in the air.

Able

2005

How Much it all Meant

May 15th, 2005 – for my physical therapist who became my friend

too many pictures to fit into rhythm and rhymes

they just keep falling and i keep trying to catch them

and arrange them here to show you

how beautiful they were falling.

it doesn’t matter if you never know

never know how much i loved you

how much it all meant

how you helped me get my life back.

Swings

August 14th, 2005 – The renewal of an old friendship helps heal my heart.

i snapped a picture with my lungs

filled them up with the air of that place

with the rushing of warmth

under climbing pine trees,

with the smell of old chains

and black plastic seats.

and the print i hold now

shows the back of two souls in a blur,

with black boots on the left

and bare feet on the right,

flying

Ripples

August 15th, 2005

these are

ripples.

one day

they will

fade to glass…i will be at peace.

and right now, knowing that

makes it all the more fun

to swish

my feet

in this pond.

(for you)

Home

September 3rd, 2005

When I sit here with this blank page, things make sense again. My body falls into place around my centered soul. There is no fear, no anxiety. Do you know this place? This is where you pray your best prayers, where kisses mean something, where you know who you are.

It’s easy to love here, because you stop trying to fix people and make excuses. Things are…as they are. This is where your past and present blend together in seamless understanding.

It’s so easy to get lost.

Carve

November 16th, 2005

yesterday, you flooded me with reasons to live,

and a lifetime of things to do.

in a moment you lit my potential

and i finally wanted to be here.

everything made so much sense

that i forgot to write it all down.

but the pain keeps coming,

and it reeks of fear

of limits, and years

of disability.

once you wrote your promises on my heart

but this burning ache has worn them away…

carve them deeper so they’ll carry me through.

this is so much harder than i thought it would be.

Fear

January 31st, 2006 – Flights booked to go out west and meet two sarcoma survivors, excited to be living so fully, worried that pain will overwhelm me while far from home. Three years since diagnosis, often feeling trapped in a painful body, having unexplained nightmares.

There is something beautiful beyond the fear. I am on my way to find it.

The path is anxious, like eyes are watching me outside the kitchen window. It is dangerous, like someone is intent on harming me while I sleep. It is covered with mud and I don’t know where to step. My arms are tight at my sides, as if restrained, and I walk facing the ground. I hear violent threats against me and the ones I love most. And it is so dark that even the light flickers dim. It is lonely. And silent.

But this is my path. I know I was not meant to live here, just to pass through it

toward the beauty.

And there I will drink freedom

in such great expanse of possibility

that my arms outspread will not begin to touch it all.

That is where I’m headed. I’m not stopping here.

A new lump

March 21, 2006

so i stand.

patient.

holding my hope

that life is more than all of this

because it is.

Vision

March 22nd, 2006

there is nothing to see but endless wheat, dirt roads, circling sky

and tiny me in the middle, twirling in freedom from pain.

and in my heart this is forever.

It’s a vision, I tell you. In heaven there will be a time when I’m ten years old, making myself dizzy because there is no hurt. And if I look far enough, I’ll probably see you in another field doing the same thing. Let’s meet up at the peach trees or the swing set, okay? We can have a birthday party.

So many people will be there…Julia and Aunt Les and David Shuler…and we will all be ten. It’ll be so much fun! If you get there first, save me a place.

13 Days Until Denmark

June 17, 2006 – before my Team Sarcoma adventure

sitting on the floor, writing notes, stuffing envelopes,

a stamp here, a picture there,

maybe a glass of wine to celebrate

an unbelievable summer.

i blame cancer for this, all of it:

the friends that keep me laughing at 1am,

the motivation to help, the excitement of success.

i blame it for the change in me,

for the ability to live years in a day without looking back,

for loving deeper, for opening up

and taking a risk.

Mike

July 27, 2006 - Those with friends in online cancer communities

know the feeling of reading with hope, fear and prayer....

it just keeps grabbing and tearing at you

so i keep throwing more paint on your internet walls

whatever will stick, dripping colors

to show you this fear is eating me too.

i want you to stay.

i keep visiting, scanning for good news.

i long to type until your faith becomes your healing.

you are part of my day,

yellow inspiration

fighting miracle

don’t go.

Line of Sight

July 29th, 2006

I used to write. there was room for the words to play around in my head, and there was little to keep them from settling here.

It was like putting socks on my feet, pouring myself into clickety keys. The thoughts were eternal, but the words kept time like the pulse underneath my skin.

Lately it’s been pale and bruised; when the doctor saw me, he wanted my blood. And he gave me new pills for the pain and reminded me a lot of people live like this. Don’t let it get you down. You survived the sarcoma.

My problem is that i am honest with doctors. The newspaper says: “she fills the air with positive energy that makes it hard to believe she had cancer.” But there is a desperation that comes through with the doctors, and it doesn’t matter.

Because this isn’t about doctors. It’s about finding the strength to know joy. No one can give me that. No one can give me my writing back.

Looking in…looking up.

One day

October 5th, 2006

i will be that tall.

cracks and all, i will be strong,

steady…and stone cold.

no, i think i will be a tree instead.

Wish

February 22nd, 2007 – For a friend whose sarcoma returned for the third time.

sometimes i just pray more light your way.

and i look back missing the break that you had

the lifting of the weight, your drive out west.

and i know it doesn’t matter what i want, but

i really wish you weren’t sick.

Limitations

April 14, 2007 – Feeling alone in pain

You walk around in your big boxes. I peer out from my tight quarters and wonder what it’s like to be you. You barely notice the corners beside you and the lid above you. You only get blisters if you run a few miles. And you slip into your cozy dreams and awaken refreshed.

Sometimes all I do is bang my head against my box.

But I see miracles. I breathe hope.

Free Box

April 26th, 2007 – starting meditation, realizing the struggle is useless

The good and bad have gone; it’s all just experience. Take the constructs, tear down the frames until i can smell the trees and see the sky. Then send the air inside and the space around, and there I will be, baby-new to the wide-open world again.

I used to bang my head against a box. Today I stepped out of it.

Take it, quick. I don’t want to get back in.

Double Me

Four years after diagnosis.

Cancer is nothing; cancer is everything.

See the contrast in the flashes of

cancer

then living,

pain

then living,

malignant difficult breath,

partial healing.

This body is arched in shadow, spirit hidden

from pounding, pummeling force.

Then, one day

light.

transcending.

I am still

here. warm. safe.

Sarcoma saunters out of sight,

leaves me standing on the sidewalk

holding the damage.

it seems like forever.

And I remember my feet

skipping away. free.

But I am still standing there.

A footnote from Mary: Four years later, I am in graduate school. I am a jogger. And I don’t need pain pills! At the edge of all this hope, I dangle my legs and kick the rocks and take in the scene. My fingers are loosening their grip on my story. The introspective rhymes in my mind are giving way to new knowledge and understanding. There is so much to learn, and one day I will help others with their stories. The only way to that place is through this…transformation. Just as I begin to feel free, I rediscover the healing loop. Even freedom is a circle. And so I am reminded of a poem I wrote long ago.

if you’d just hold your head back

throw your arms out and

look up

those circles would be

your freedom instead of

your chaos.

I can still twirl.

[Editor's note: To read more about Mary or contact her, visit her here.]