Category Archives: cancer

Seasonal Smile: Christmas Cricket

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Shell Angel from Barbara– Photo by MDMikus Copyright 2009

In 1996, at this time of year, I had just finished chemotherapy for breast cancer. Surgery was behind me and radiation treatments were ahead. Our small family of four was trying to have a “normal’ Christmas. We put up the tree and decorations, wrapped presents for our two young kids. My husband made the traditional turkey dinner. In the flurry of activity (and some haze of chemo fog on my part) came this poem (based on a true story): To hear me read it    (Track 19 on my CD, Full Blooming)

Christmas Cricket

Just when I thought
nothing could shake me,
a cooked cricket
showed up on our Christmas turkey,

not crispy, but thoroughly well done,
black body sprawled across a browned thigh.

Awakened by the warmth of the oven
from winter hibernation
in a dark, safe place—the roaster,

it began the final journey
in ever increasing heat
and then succumbed,
at least where we could see

before taking a crunchy bite.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1996

On my CD, Full Blooming
(Listen to poem)

From my book, As Easy as Breathing
(Eric Hoffer Award Honorable mention
in Self-help/ Spiritual)

Joy Angel from Barbara Copyright MDMikus 2009

Joy Angel from Barbara– Photo by MDMikus, Copyright 2009

 

 

I Know That (song version)

May is my month, with my birthday, Mother’s Day and my wedding anniversary. As a 62nd birthday challenge I wanted to get something unstuck: post my first video on YouTube. I’ve had a channel since 2011 and I would almost do it, but pull back. Always some snag. How to do the recording on iMovie? How to load the video? It felt too personal or too exposed, or laryngitis, or not enough time, or the need to wear makeup, or whatever…. Over the last few years, partly through Eric Whitacre’s Virtual Choir, I became more confident of my ability to do tech stuff. I got a Blue Yeti microphone –which is the coolest– to record VC 3 and VC 4.

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My office recording set up

I made the light that Jack Rowland recommended last year. I learned enough of iMovie to submit my video for the last Virtual Choir. Thank you also to Gene Waddle and Elisabeth Smith and “the team” for your encouragement and to the worldwide family that is Virtual Choir.

Thank you to Tom Prasada-Rao and Cary Cooper for their bravery in posting very personal and moving songs. And to Charlotte McDaniel who keeps on learning and posting her lovely video creations. You all inspired me to make the leap.

I’ve had some recent clarity about my job: to deliver the poems that come to me. At first it meant reading in person and in print, then on a CD, and now on video, where the words can reach someone and help to heal, inspire, comfort, give voice to an experience, encourage, support, connect with.

I am very excited to tell you: here is my first video, I Know That (song version). Originally published in my book, As Easy as Breathing, I wrote the poem in the middle of chemotherapy, when losing my hair was imminent, a very big deal. (I also sang this on my CD, Full Blooming.)

I did lose my hair, but not my eyebrows. And I was grateful for that. My aunt (in the song) had just died of breast cancer and my dear Grandma had also just passed away. I had recovered from surgery, then began chemo, with radiation to come, as was the standard of care then. I was trying to not get pulled down by the losses and to stay focused on healing.

So here goes: A New Beginning.

Thanks for being there! What creation have you been putting off? Go to it!

Poem in Preparation for Surgery

10/24/07

Instructions to the Body
Prior to Surgery

Yield to the scalpel whether laser or blade,
limit leaks of precious fluids,
let nerves that are cut be soothed,
relax into the induced-sleep state of healing.

Heart beats strong in a steady rhythm,
blood pressure calm,
breath relaxed and easy,
all organ systems functioning smoothly.

From the giant pharmacy of drugs
for which you have instructions,
make all those that in your wisdom
are needed to optimally heal.

Release what is to be taken
for the highest good.
Protect what is to remain
for future days stretching out long before me.

Allow melding with mind, emotion and spirit
in service of healing.

Be hopeful, be kind to all concerned.
Know I trust.
Know I love you.
Know I am most grateful.

And to the cells that are leaving,
a blessing for long service,
both individually and together
speak well for me.

Be hopeful, be kind to all concerned.
Know I trust.
Know I love you.
Know I am most grateful.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2007

From my short collection, New Year’s Eve Surgery, which I gave to my medical team before a bilateral mastectomy and removal of my ovaries in 2007.  It turned out that I carry a BRCA 2 mutation and I’d had three breast cancer tumors by that point. I spent time in research and reflection before making such a deeply personal decision. I wanted my team to know something about me before embarking on this very personal and human experience. I wanted the conversation to be more healing and less clinical. And so I chose some poems and a few winter photos to speak for me. I decorated the chapbook covers with glitter streamer and star stickers. My sister, Marie, had the brilliant idea for them to sign my copy of the chapbook, which made it very interactive. Later, I got to read all their support for me. Amazing!

Three weeks ago I was facing another major surgery, hysterectomy, and thought of this poem. I recited it aloud to myself for several days before: the mind giving the body specific instructions to do well. These were my own affirmations, a very practical piece. I printed a copy of the poem and took it with me, intending to read it again at the hospital. Instead, when the anesthesiologist came to talk with me, she asked an unexpected question: “Was there anything I wanted to have her read to me before surgery? While awake or asleep?” I gave her this poem and she read it to me immediately prior to the surgery, while I was sleeping. Awesome! Very calming of my anxiety. I did not have to arrange anything. I felt in good hands all around and I have healed well.

(New Year’s Eve Surgery is available in the Store as a FREE pdf for a bit longer.)

Breast Health Month…Every Month

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I prefer a focus on Breast Health rather than cancer. Let us examine our breasts with love rather than fear as a natural part of taking good care of ourselves. Let us listen to our bodies easily, before they have to scream to be heard over the daily cacophony of life, often taking care of others first.

Twice I have had breast cancer, in 1996 and in 2007. I learned a great deal about healing body, mind, emotions, and spirit. And each time I was cracked open–in a good way–breaking through old defenses, encouraging me to bloom. Even my relationships were healed. Writing saved me, allowing me to access inner wisdom about my healing process. This poetic journal, begun after healing from MS in 1995, continues still.

Here is poem I wrote last week. When I read it to him today, my voice teacher encouraged me to post it as part of this special month.

10/12/09

From the Stars

Here I am
naked before you,
all scars, weakness,
vulnerability revealed

as beautiful.

Steely resolve,
stubborn determination,
hard-won power

as foundation.

Unashamed,
unassuming,
hiding nothing
I might once have deemed

unacceptable.

Something to be said for
enduring, growing,
transforming, transcending.

Every wrinkle
tells a story
of care or neglect.

every scar a tale
of chance or choice,
guilt, healing, awareness, or regret.

I can tell you
have come from the stars
just to see

life here in action.
Here I am.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
Copyright 2009

Scar Resolution?

Last fall, I read my poem, “Life Review of External Scars” at an open mic at the Geraldine R Dodge Poetry Festival at Waterloo Village, NJ. I prefaced it by saying that this poem was in some ways darkly funny, though the list of scars is long and might seem dreadful. Over the years, I have developed a very well-honed dark sense of humor, sometimes laughing at times that might seem inappropriate, a funeral for example. It’s just my way of coping with what sometimes seems to be an ongoing onslaught of hard times. It is of course true that many scars are internal, not visible to the eye. Scars can also be in a culture as well as a person. “Should We” was written a few days after my bilateral lumpectomies, when I was very specifically dealing with raw, new scars on a sensitive area (emotionally and physically). I often read it now as a plea for peace. “Now As I Am” addresses the idea of being at home in the body, or the longing to feel that way, a topic I return to over and over.

8/30/96

Should We

be known
by our scars
or by how far
we’ve come since
that wounding?

Could we
look at
where we are,
not
where we’ve been
and what’s been done?

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 1996

4/28/08

Now As I Am

I opened the front door
to the home I once had
and began to unwrite
the unwritten rules.

Unvoiced expectations
so heavy a load
my shoulders were bowed.
Internalized judgment
passed down generations.
Rules of behavior
kept me glued to this spot
in fear of mistakes or imperfection,
shame, guilt or embarrassment.

And even one step forward
was too much to take
under such a burden.
Time to lay that burden down.
Thank you for any gifts
and ask forgiveness.

Forgiveness for the lack of trust,
forgiveness for forgetfulness,
forgiveness for any harsh words
or unkind thoughts or anything
less than generous.

When I look into clear blue eyes
in a mirror and see the pain there
and the laughter, the willingness,

I am encouraged,
I am nourished.

And I open the door
to a home I once had
and open the windows
to let in the light,

disperse the shadows,
freshen the air,
so that now, as I am,
I can come
back in and live there.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2008

9/4/08

Life Review of External Scars

remembered or deduced, roughly in order

The belly button it could be argued,
though the cut part fell off.

The white slash so near the right eye where
grandma’s golden retriever got me at three.

Jumping in bed, hit Mom and Dad’s dresser corner
with my chin. No staples, but butterflies to minimize scarring.

Hard swing, playground first grade, gashed skull, first stitches.
Dr. Griffin, kind man, talked me through it.

The visible, but not noticeable, line across
the fleshy lower third of my left index finger,

cut when I tried to get at a box of brown sugar
with our largest sharp knife and the hard block

did not yield, the blade slicing through the box
and into me down to the bone. Parents out,

leaving us to baby-sit: I was second oldest.
Terrified. Cold compresses to stop the bleeding.

No stitches, butterflies when Mom got home or next morning.
Four deep Staph. infections: left thumb in eighth grade;

right side of nose bridge, left temple and cheek,
in the middle of high school when most self-conscious.

Inch mystery scar outside of right thigh.
Tonsils removed at nineteen.

Small dimple scar on tailbone from pilonidal cyst
the size of a small orange, painful to sit on, then burst open.

Two episiotomies, network of stretch marks
from carrying and delivering watermelon babies.

Thirty six? was it? “voluntary” stitches to remove
suspicious, questionable large moles…that proved of no consequence.

Two and three-inch fine lines from breast cancers removed,
now replaced by two eight-inch thin seams fading to white,

overlying scar tissue where breasts once were.
Three umbilical incisions repairing hernias plus

two half inch slits at bikini line, removing tubes and ovaries.
All the mosquito bites, bee stings, falls, sprains,

strains, scrapes, burns and bruises healed to invisible.
Each one a miracle.

No physical trace of measles, chicken pox, flu,
small pox vaccines, Tb tests, hard bumps,

swollen lips, teenaged breakouts,
however transiently embarrassing.

No discoloration or inflammation from adult poison ivy,
no convincing demonstration of the initial devastation.

All this not to whine, the pitiful victim,
but to take a moment to realize how far I’ve come…

still standing.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2008

“Should We” is from As Easy as Breathing (p.76) and is also read on the CD, Full Blooming: Selections from a Poetic Journal.