It's been diagnosis day for nearly three weeks now
each new day it's the first thing I've thought about
each night as I've tried to sleep, the last thing too
then at odd times during the day I've drifted off to it
these paralysing thoughts, each a terrifying what if.
What if, is an endless exercise in utter futility
and yet knowing this as I do has not stopped the train
the feeling of inevitability, the ever deepening gloom
as each new diagnosis day passes without any news
I feel my grip on the here and now slipping away.
There's a special tone that those medically trained use
sort of neutral professional, no second guessing them
so talking of meetings to review pathology means what?
she says she will have to get back to me on that one
which she does, a full week later on, but she does.
There's that tone again, my butterflies hammer inside
I can hardly even take in the good part of the news
who knew that butterflies could make so much noise
or that words could become gibberish from ear to brain
that tumours can grow large but still remain benign.
Why isn't that the very first word that she said
does she think I wouldn't listen about follow up
about how next we'll go through reviews for surgery
and all that other hocus pocus magical medical guff
I just wanted to hear one word, the rest can wait.
Isn't it amazing how one word can tip the balance
between what once was and what might yet be to come
one word is like the get out of jail card in a game
but the game is one that never stops, even when we do
that's all part of what becomes the general whirl.
I've been asking myself if should I keep this quiet
perhaps whisper my gratitude for a temporary reprieve
only too aware of what some dear friends now endure
my thankfulness seems at once crass but also profound
for I am in no great rush to go fire walking again.
The Road Not Taken
15 hours ago