Cancer is a car wreck

Part 1 of 3

Cancer is a car wreck.

Everything in life

is in high-speed slow motion

or so it seems,

until . . . diagnosis is revealed.

Diagnosis is a collision.

Everything before than was . . .

well, sort of below the radar.

Now everything is

on the radar screen

and possibly seen going forward

in slow-mo.

Someone hands you

that paperweight . . .

with the snow scene stirred.

Only now,

there is just one huge flake

and it covers everything,

no matter how

you turn the weight itself.

It's ever-slow

that one flake of snow!

This event,

the diagnosis

becomes the commencement

for the usage of euphemisms!!

You need a decoder

to comprehend

what is going to be said

around you,

even though you understand

most everything straight away.

You are right there

but it feels like

you are only getting postcards

from everyone right next to you.

There is an animation occurring

and your body takes the lead.

A self-induced tai chi of chemistry

has secretly gone wild.

Sixty-four moves

that only medical personnel

can tell you the names of

have occurred,

and all of these moves

have been or are learning you!

It is like "yoga for the inflexible

and uninterested"

of course, presented at the gunpoint

by a technically talented staff

of medical observers on your behalf.

It is a pageant play

and you woke up in it,

maybe even as the lead!

You surely do not know the history

of your role to start

but the audience is concerned

and riveted to your every move,

even though there are occasional yawns

sighted amongst the on-lookers.

No, I mean audience,

well, really, I mean those concerned.