Friday, May 05, 2006


My son had a little cyst on his upper left arm. Surgeons dug it out; it was bigger than first appeared. He bled all over the place for the next few days, never really healed.

It got better, though, and he took a job north. Lest you feel this a story about some little kid, my son is mid-twenties.

He just had a CRI scan of that arm and anomolies were discovered. 25% chance of cancer, in which case amputation is the remedy. He must soon go to Vancouver for more thorough tests.

I'm scared. He's scared. We're all terrified.
What a brutal, indiscriminate thing is that disease!

My son is skookum, has weight-lifted for the past year or so. Not tall, but muscular, fit, arms the girth of my calves. No steroids, not even protein supplements; just healthy food.

There's little history of such disease in my family. We all live to be a hundred , essentially disease-free. It's the Indian heritage. After most of the native population died of Smallpox and TB during the initial assault, we resumed our heritage of longevity.

But this devastates me. I want to place blame somewhere, but blame is no solution.

25% chance, say they, which means 75% opposing chance.

I hope they're right.

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