Resection

re·sect

riˈsekt/

verb

SURGERY

  1. cut out (tissue or part of an organ).

 

Today is a day to consider that which might need to be cut out of my life.  To consider what tissue is participating in bringing life forward, and what tissue might be destroying it.

 

What impedes the flow of blood

Or breath?

 

What grows and replicates in ways it should not?

What is malign?

And what is benign but should not be there just the same?

 

This is a task of

Compassion and precision.

 

Today is a day to remember

And

Today is a day to affirm life

And cut out

All that does not.

 

 

 

Today of all Days

I was unconscious to the thing that saved my life.

Knife slipped through skin.

Danced around nerves.  Vessels.

Cut away the danger.

Sliced out the disease.

All While I slept.

(I wonder about the conversation they had over me

Did they talk about the weather, their love lives, what they’d have for lunch

Over my splayed out body?  I’ll never know…

Why does that trouble me?)

 

Today I shall be awake.

To that which saves my life…

To that which IS my life.

 

I want to taste and see.

Smell, feel, hear.

 

I want to breathe

Long, cool, droughts of air.

Or even heave deep breaths

Of lung-burning.

 

 

Today calls for Super-Hero senses

To suck up all that I am alive to.

 

I know it may not all be good.

The kids will giggle, but they will also bicker.

I will feel gratefulness.

But I may also remember fear.

 

And I may seek excitement.

But feel boredom in the end.

 

That is ok.

It doesn’t all have to be good

To be

Good.

 

But today, of all days,

I

Will

Be

Awake.