The Fog Comes on Little Cat Feet

Carl Sandburg, about Chicago. I wrote an illustrated paper on it at age 8 for Mrs. T. Thinking I got an A++.

Now this fog is messing with my family. Cancer shows up, sneaks up. Unlike Mr. Sandburg I would not attribute it to a cat. Often cats are mascots in nursing homes and I have loved them over the years. My two talked and were not very stealthy. One taught himself to jump over the sofa and retrieve crumpled post-it notes! He also knocked my keys down from the counter, playing hockey with them. Anything but quiet. The older one never let me get in the last word until I held him in my arms and he was gone at age 13.

My mother died of cancer eight years ago. My father now has two kinds of cancer. His dear companion has another after surviving a different one years ago. I wish to ask when does it end? Not with death.

It ends when we finally have a cure for cancer. I’ll get it. My in-laws and husband will get it. When is enough?

I believe the organizations who raise money for diseases make the most money for themselves. Cancer is cancer, whether it be breast, prostate or whatever. Fighting among themselves for money is doing a disservice to all. Get rid of cancer, no matter what celebrity has a certain type that is popular for donors as of this moment.

Angry at the medical profession and scientists who depend on grants for specific cancers I am skeptical, however optimistic that someone will see the light. Dee


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