Snake in the Grass

You just never know.
I've never noticed a snake until the very last minute, until I'm pretty much on top of it.
Then there's the adrenelin rushing to all of the senses and suddenly everything is big and bright and loud and alive. That's why I used to like horror movies. And why I used to take a regular spin on the Giant Dipper roller coaster.

It was like that when the surgeon put on his serious face and said it was bad. Real bad. It was all over the place and it wasn't going away. He said a lot of other things but adrenelin did funny things to language and I heard single words, like chemotherapy and nipple, like stage four and lobular.
But none of them would string together in sentences. I got the general idea. I had cancer and it was bad. Real bad all of a sudden and I didn't really notice it until I was pretty much on top of it.

The adrenelin flow slows down pretty quick and then everything that was big and bright and loud and alive settles down into complete sentences. But there's the lingering slime of the stuff and still the sentences won't coalesce into paragraphs.
The questions don't lead to the answers.

It's more than a year now since that first adrenelin rush and since then there has been one after another...oops, now it's in my uterus, now it's in my bladder, now it's in my intestines... so that I am now always looking for the snake before I get to it.

Can I slip by this time without waking it up? Is it going to be poisonous this time? Is that any reason to kill it? Isn't it just another snake in a world of snakes? Isn't it beautiful in it's own right?