Department: Poetry By Cancer Caregivers
Bumper cars on the freeway
and a routine x-ray brought you my way.
It's probably nothing you were told,
just a cyst…or something.
The anticipation in your eyes,
the trembling of your fingertips,
the twenty pounds you had lost
said that probably was full of lies.
The massive spleen was testimony enough
to the hastiness of a busy ER,
a finding often missed
if you weren't looking for it,
and the next gunshot was on the way.
The fear, the quiver, somebody else, not me.
Nothing to worry about:
spleens come out all the time
with ease and facility.
And the chemotherapy is well-tolerated,
the radiation pretty standard,
side effects will be mild.
Two months of fever and chills,
Muscles wasting away,
must be an unusual bug.
I know how you feel.
“Oh you do,
do you (such arrogance),
I hope not.”