Big ‘C’. A poem by Gill Chedgey

One night in February you had a sore throat.
You stressed that it might be coronavirus.
It wasn’t.
You didn’t have coronavirus.
And you didn’t have cancer.

In March you didn’t have coronavirus.
In March you didn’t have cancer.
You thought lockdown a novelty.
Even though you work part time for the NHS.

You tried to pull up a renegade tree.
You felt something “go”.
And it hurt.
A lot.

You struggled.
In April.
Healthcare professionals said
You hurt your hamstring,
Maybe.
You had a hernia.
Maybe,
But you didn’t have coronavirus.
And you didn’t have cancer.

Your GP examined you.
She said it was your pelvis.
She said have an x-ray.
But you had a CT scan instead.
But you didn’t have coronavirus
and you didn’t have cancer.

You fractured your pelvis.
That’s why it hurt.
But what else.
A mass on your kidney.
You had an MRI scan.
In May.
But you didn’t have coronavirus.
But you might have cancer.

We’ll do another MRI, they said.
We’ll do a biopsy, they said.
We’ll test you for COVID-19, they said.
We might remove your kidney, they said.

But why did your pelvis break, they wondrered.
Because it’s weak, they said.
Because the cancer spread.
And weakened it, they said.
We’ll do a full body PET scan, they said.
To see if it’s spread, they said.
Then we might operate, they said.
Or we might not, they said.

In June.
You don’t have coronavirus.
But you do have cancer.

………..

Book blogger and scribbler – bookphace.blogspot.com