I can’t move! I am naked and I can’t move! I am vulnerable. I am trapped. I am stuck.
Cancer. My precious one-year-old granddaughter. She is beautiful and has long blonde hair.
Bald. She is bald. I am helpless. I am stuck.
I can’t move. I am stuck in this reality. For now this hell holds me.
Endless trips to the hospital. We are stuck here another month.
Holding her down screaming is hard and I am trapped.
She is trapped. She is stuck. I can’t help her.
Like the dream where I am naked. I can’t move or run away. These heavy iron boots of cancer keep my feet planted where I stand and I am stuck.
We are stuck. For now.
I wrote this when our one-year-old granddaughter had cancer. She is now five years old and in remission. Her long blonde hair returned and we are no longer stuck in the grips of cancer.
