Marilyn Stacy

Poet, Writer, Therapist
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        Sometimes You Have to Laugh...       
a poet's look at cancer
 
 
by Marilyn Stacy
 
 

 

For discounted price on multiple purchases of this book, please contact me directly at:

 

dallasstacy@sbcglobal.net


 
 

from the author:
 
 
It's not a new idea that difficult times can often be used as a springboard for something better. The Chinese term, wei ji means crisis, and is made up of two symbols, those for danger and opportunity. As a counselor, I hoped to use my own crisis as an opportunity to help others in some way. This book is one result of that wish. May it lead to a smoother journey for all who share with me the twists and turns of the "cancer train."
 
Texas Poet Laureate Alan Birkelbach says about the book: "...Her words, full of optimism and hope, will speak to not only the person afflicted with the disease--but also to anyone associated with those people: the doctors, the families, the friends. Marilyn lets us know we do not have to suffer alone and she tells us we can all be survivors...a book that will inspire and give hope. It ends up belonging to everyone involved in the cancer battle. It will enlighten you, embrace you, and lift you up."
 
 
(Laughing does help...really.) 
                 
                  Losses                                                     Thank You, Funky Winkerbean
 
Troubles lurk in hidden places.                                  Yes, I know she died,
Everybody knows it                                                     but reading about Lisa's journey 
but nobody expects it to find them.                            as she moved through breast cancer  
Conversations dwindle to nothing                              in the comic strip
when you tell friends                                                   informed and inspired me, 
you have breast cancer.                                            helped me understand,
                                                                                     and even laugh at,
Modesty disappears                                                   chemo brain
somewhere in the MRI machine                                when it reared its ugly...
or under the bone scanner.
                                                                                                      something or other
And at an age when you're finally                               in the middle of a class
at peace with your hair, it deserts you--                     I was teaching.
a chemotherapy dropout.  
 
...(But we don't always have to be brave and noble, do we?)
 
from page 50:
 
I am rarely depressed, but on one especially bad day I had a clutch of fear that I would never get better (though logically I knew I would). I asked my husband to remind me that I would feel better soon. It may not have made sense, but you do not have to be logical. Ask for what you want and need.
 
And...I am nothing if not optimistic:
 
          Fuzz                                                                         
                                                                                                                                Control
Soft white fuzz                                                             
is growing on my head.                                                   I've got the power now,            
I cheer it on,                                                                       sitting in the old blue lounge chair, 
massage my scalp                                                            holding a steamy cup
and wonder when                                                            of orange zinger tea,    
the fuzz                                                                               with all three TV/VCR remotes
will be long enough                                                         and the portable phone
to insultate and protect                                                   in my lap. 
my bare head,                                                           What more could a modern   
when I'll look like a woman again,                             woman ask? 
not a futuristic extra-terrestrial.
 
Next month I can finally fly
to visit my new great-granddaughter
for the first time.
I'm told the fuzz
on her head is light brown.
A snapshot shows her
wearing the same kind of soft,
pink knit cap I wear to bed.
I know we'll bond.