the hunt for red october

Submarine movies like this one by Tom Clancy,  have tension and drama, a dangerous sub hidden and silent seeks to destroy and escape at the risk of being destroyed.

Not unlike cancer.  The thyroid is gone, the lymph gland and muscle are out, but did one cell, one DNA particle of mindless replication, a cell that seeks to live and divide forever and cause my death, escape?

Where can it be?  How many are with it?

Four more vials of blood. The nurse finally calls me in and she is not alone.  A student, dressed in uniform but for her black shoes. Nurses don’t wear black sketchers.

May the student draw the blood, “Of course”, I smile.  Let some good come out of these endless punctures, this draining of  ichor. She fumbles, but I know that after 10 times, or 1000 times it will become a thoughtless action, right every time. So hard now, so easy soon.

Four vials to be, listened to for the sound of props, or the ping of sonar, or the groan of metal under stress.  But it is not sounds these may yield, it is proteins.  Markers, indicators of  evil, and where it may lurk.

I press against the tiny cotton pad to stop any leaks, and wonder if the band-aid she selects will have flowers or clowns.

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