Hope. Faith. Belief.

Hope. Faith. Belief.

Media.
FDA.
Medical Community.
Researchers.
Doctors.
Fundraisers.

They all want us
to believe
we are winning
the war on cancer.

On the outside,
looking in,
one might think it’s true.
Yet on the battlefield,
one realizes
it is all
whitewash.
The iron curtain is
impenetrable.

My doctor is one of the best.
Even with her expertise,
the most basic questions
still get answered with
“I don’t know.”
“There is no test to determine that.”
“We don’t have the technology.”
“We don’t know why this drug
works on some,
but not others;
and we certainly don’t know
which side of the equation
you will fall.”

It’s all a guessing game.
You get what works
on most,
most of time;
or on some,
some of the time.

When formulating
your Action Plan,
dive into the statistics.
One would think
research
would be conclusive,
yet a case can be made
on either side,
for anything.

Remove all
the smoke and mirrors,
behind the camouflage,
there is one truth
which is absolute.
How do you know
if you are cured of cancer?
When you die of something else…..
or if it comes back.

If you take off
the blindfold,
all that remains is
Hope.
Faith.
Belief.

Nancy L. Baskin Michlin, M.Ed., C.H.C.
August 24-25, 2014
Poem #389

Let Go. Let Be.

Let Go. Let Be.

The dichotomy
of feeling deeply loved
and ostracized
simultaneously.

There are those
who will cross
the greatest oceans
and lands for me.
Then, there are those
who will hardly cross the street.

There are those
who miss me
when I’m not yet out of sight,
combined with those
who don’t give me a second thought.

There are times
I am so deeply moved
by the love and adoration
embracing me.
Conversely.
Concurrently.
There are times
I am alone.
In the midst of a group.
Shoved to the outer limits.

Sharing ancestral blood
does not guarantee anything.
One can hope LOVE
is part of the equation.
An X Factor going beyond,
“because we are family.”
Yet LIKE may not be an integer.
You may have both for them.
They may have neither for you.
For me.

I do not know why.
Silence across the years
has built into unspoken volumes.
An encyclopedia
of words never said.
Yet their echo
reverberates endlessly.

Guessing games.
Wondering.
Not knowing.
My efforts go unnoticed,
misread.
No matter how hard I try,
or what I say,
I get “THE HAND.”

No one’s vision is 20/20.
We all see through spectacles                                  
of our own creation,
colored by our history.
An overlay
clipped onto our frames.

Once the script is in place,
many times,
people are pinned at
near or far sighted.

Seemingly,
my role
is fixed.
Strive as I might
to shatter their overlay
or perform Lasik surgery,
in their eyes,
I am stuck.
Stagnant.
Immobile.

In my deepest of hearts,
I HOPE.
Although,
when I was brought
to the very edge of life,
I was greeted by Dead Air.
Two months later,
all I got
was a token of support.
Too late.
Too little.
My psyche
was torn asunder.
Yet
I still HOPED.

Time and time again,
the same play
has been paraded
before my eyes.
The episodes
may have
a different storyline,
but the ending
never changes.

How many times
do I have to witness it
before I believe that it is static?
At some point,
I need to stop
trying to pen a new story.
I need to stop
putting myself
in a rejection position.
I need to stop
trying,
so I don’t keep
getting hurt,
over
and
over
again.

Center my attention
on those who love me,
those who would cross
the greatest depths,
those who embrace
who I am.

STOP!
Just STOP!
Step away!

Let go.
Let be.

Nancy L. Baskin Michlin, M.Ed., C.H.C.
August 18-23, 2014
Poem # 388