Dead Center

I can utter, truthfully, one of the most frightening statements possible in the English language, "Lung cancer has metastasized to my liver." I found out about the metastasis a couple of years ago. I don't remember when, exactly. Part of my coping with cancer has been to downplay the disease in the drama (or adventure) of my own life and let other stories come to the fore. I don't like thinking about the evil biology that still, without explanation, lives inside me. But last week the dreaded drama seemed to turn a corner. My doctor reviewed the results of my recent PET/CT scan. In viewing the cross sectional images, he went straight for the liver "met." Compared side-by-side to the previous scan it showed slight enlargement, but this time the inside was dark. In a PET image, dark=metabolically inactive=dead. Inner death, displayed visually as a black core, never looked so good. Life begets life, but there is a form of death that contributes to the same end. That is death to death itself. When death begins at death's core and grows outward, it's time to celebrate. Life is emphatically affirmed.