Volume No. XVIII
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XI
Volume No. X
Volume No. IX
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VI
Volume No. V
Volume No. IV
Volume No. III
Volume No. II
Volume No. I
Archives
Volume No. I
Volume No. II
Volume No. III
Volume No. IV
Volume No. V
Volume No. VI
Volume No. VII
Volume No. VIII
Volume No. IX
Volume No. X
Volume No. XI
Volume No. XII
Volume No. XIII
Volume No. XIV
Volume No. XV
Volume No. XVI
Volume No. XVII
Volume No. XVIII
Someday the surgeon won't have to dig a hole in my foot, and no plastic surgeon will need to fill the hole with a speck of skin from my thigh; there will be a time when my groin isn't sliced open to find a node, or worse, a train of nodes -- no resident will staple my open wound, along with my gentle spirit -- but that day will come after the soul has left this body: nobody has led the way, though the world is full of those who've tried; and while the world waits I fight to claim my skin, awaiting the cure to creep into the glass slide, the petri dish, the arms of Everyman.
Joshua Gray lives outside of Washington DC with his wife and two boys and works in the city as an operations and IT manager. In 2010 he was diagnosed with stage III Melanoma just a few weeks after his 40th birthday and one year after his mother-in-law passed away from pancreatic cancer. Recovering from several surgeries at home, he began to document his emotions through poetry and is now in his second year of recovery.
Content Copyright © 2006-2018, SurvivorsReview.org | Feedback | Site Design & Code Copyright © AlmadenWeb 2006 |
Privacy Policy and Disclaimer |