Posted 11/30/2019 1:22 PM (GMT -7)
The instructions were quite clear,
What goes where?
the test to know if it will be
life, death, or something between.
Doctors, nurses, all
caring, gentle, attentive,
give me a bag for my underwear,
feeling like a child undressing, mother watching—
Feeling like a warrior stripped of armor,
a frightened rabbit,
as fear takes hold.
But I get to keep my socks on–
Nice, warm, wooly socks
countering the cold air
creeping up my gown.
On the table directed,
the lecture begins; worry takes hold.
Fittingly, my legs are bent
into fetal position
Transrectal is a word
that requires no more explanation.
The procedure starts with all eyes on my backside.
I hear a click,
and inside I feel a punch.
“That’s a good sample, dump the one from the dull needle.”
Twelve little punches turn to fourteen.
then a hand rests on my shoulder,
“We’re done, relax. Carol will take care of you now.”
warmth returns as strong arms
help me sit upright
and hand me back my underwear.
Been awhile since I posted a poem. This one is from my cancer collection book, "There was a Time"
I'll be in the shop.
Age 59, 52 at DX
4.2 10/11, 1.9 6/12, 1.2 12/12, 1.0 5/13, .6 11/13,
.7 5/14, .5 10/14, .5 4/15, .3 10/15, .3 4/16, .4 10/16, .4 5/17, .3 10/17 .3 4/18, .4 11/18
2 out of 14 cores positive
Treatment IGRT - 2/2012