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
A year ago, giving thanks, I readied myself to have my insides opened. Thanksgiving passed in the clean white-halled hospital, where the cafeteria offered turkey dinners on black plastic plates plump dollups of hazy mashed potatoes squishing off the edge. That mess never made it to my room. The day after surgery my body could not fathom solids, but drank thirstily the saline carried through a clear plastic tube to my left forearm. My belly held the orange, square marks of sanitizing scrub for days, demarcating the landscape for the scalpel and doctor's lithe hands. In he went: scooping beige fatty tissue rearranging maroon insides snipping, resecting, exploring, extracting cancer the day before Thanksgiving. They canceled the family feast since the family event was cancer. No festive meal wine and wild words flowing. No open pant-buttons or fat uncles splayed on the couch like starfish. They waited by the phone to hear the news of surgery's end, with hope and thanks that I survived.
Ali Zidel Meyers grew up in Ohio and has lived in California for the last 10 years. She was diagnosed with colon cancer at the age of 33. Ali is currently working on a memoir about her cancer experience. For more information about Ali and her work, visit www.meyerslearningcenter.com.
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