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On the library bulletin board I see a notice for a club on facing death. It isn't for the dying but a goad to the well "to be actively alive as if this year could be your last." Ten years ago, the doctor said, "Karen, I won't let you die." Until her words, I'd never thought it was a possibility. They talk about "survivors" being brave. I wasn't. I sleepwalked through it all— chemo, cutting, throwing up, lost breast, bald head. My friend Kathy said that in her cancer year, red was redder, breezes sweeter. But when it was finally over, she was glad not to have to appreciate each and every damned flower. Afterwards, she said, it brought her joy to stand and curse a subway train that passed us by.
"The Club" was originally published in New Millenium Writings.
Karen Glenn, a Colorado writer and poet who has read on "All Things Considered", has been cancer-free for 14 years.
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