"16"
The odds are good, Dr. Song tells me in his office.
Still, he blinks too much as he answers my wife's questions
about this perplexing case.
Melanoma is exceedingly rare among individuals
of my dusky extraction and virtually non-existent
among younger members of this population.
You're a medical miracle, joked one nurse before I went under.
But not the good kind.
At least my tests show no spread to the neighboring lymph nodes,
lowering the mortality rate within three years
to roughly one in 10.
Not bad odds.
I resolve not to make too much of this matter in the days
to come.
But the complimentary brochure that I take from the rack
as I exit the reception area says
I mustn't make too little of it either.
In this respect, my condition is not unlike the war.
I don't want to make too much of it
in my ambient transactional order,
but I don't want to make too little of it either.