My Friend Sandy Has Ovarian Cancer Too

She’d moved west to Seattle; by phone
we compare treatments, numbers,
chances.
Hanging on, she says: we are survivors.

I flew to visit before we knew–
browsing in bookstores, eating pastries,
strolls by Lake Union. She brewed tea, I gave her
Lucille Clifton’s good times before I had to leave.

Her diagnosis came soon, mine
a year later. An uncommon cancer,
with no cure.
But doctors say they can manage it.

Chemotherapy, surgery. Infusions, pills.
Experimental drugs almost killed her–
in the hospital for twelve days,
I couldn’t reach her until the fifth.

I’ve tolerated treatments. So far. She has not.
Living day to day, thankful for walks, movies, books.
Discussing how to end it when all is too much.
We could stop eating, stop drinking.

At some point, we’ll know.
We’ll tell each other, try to visit
one last time.