Once a year, I return to two quiet organs I once carried without thought, working faithfully in the dark, asking for nothing, until one day they asked to be seen. Cysts. Small moons of fluid, bubbles scattered like careless stars throughout the geography of me. Harmless, they said. Mostly. Until one was not. That year,
A poem on kidney cancer survivorship and the annual scan originally appeared in KevinMD.com.
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