Tag Archives: cancer poetry

Poetic Discourse

National Poetry Month, which takes place each April, is a celebration of poetry introduced in 1996. National Poetry Month began in the U.S. spearheaded by the Academy of American Poets on the steps of a post office in New York City. There, the story goes, Academy staff members handed out copies of T.S. Eliot’s poem, “The Waste Land,” which begins, “April is the cruellest month…” to individuals waiting in line to mail their tax returns.

Those of you who follow The Teal Diaries are aware that I write prose, however I’ve been inspired during my cancer treatments to pen a small collection of poetry. Here I’ve chosen to share two of my short poems. My compositions Patient’s Lab Results and A Visit to the Emergency Room both explore the life altering power of a cancer diagnosis.

 

Patient’s Lab Results

The sun is preparing to set on a late autumn afternoon,
its rays hold me together as I fall asleep dreaming of
my immaculate incision. Scarcely a week since my surgery.
I almost laugh to think I was such a novice.
Such a common virgin.

I pass through sliding doors to a point of no return.
Then I enter a vacant waiting room,
a place that is sinister, foreboding.
How many women have waited in these chairs?
How many innocent lives transformed?

“The ultrasound shows a growth on your ovary.”
“You need surgery to remove your uterus and right ovary.”
“You have cancer.”

Ultimately, he arrives, seeming anxious to print the pages.
“Here, this is for you.”
His words turn to ice as he offers me the pathology report.
Warmth as he grasps my hand, lending some reassurance.

My world dissolves as I take ownership of a disease.
The rapidly dividing cells, the cancerous tumors,
the abhorrent malignancy.

“Adenocarcinoma of the endometrium”
“The uterine cavity is completely filled with light tan neoplasm.”
“Right ovary with synchronous endometroid adenocarcinoma”

 

Immunotherapy one

 

A Visit to the Emergency Room

Riding unending waves of pain and nausea,
I take a secret pride in my endurance.
The sign over the door says MINOR EMERGENCIES.
Should I draw attention to this irony?

The young nurses seem aloof, peering out from
behind their curtain. I sense that we are to be
endured until morning comes. Around me
are the homeless, the destitute the addicted.

The fluorescent lights have been turned low,
casting a pale greenish tinge across the room.
Beeping monitors and moaning
patients provide the soundtrack.

I wonder if these souls feel entirely unaided,
abandoned, alone amid the chaos.
Each of us is fighting a singular
and solitary battle.

A torrent of frustration, then drowning I panic.
I want to scream that I’m a cancer patient
and my bowels are blocked.
I long for them to have evidence.
When will they be convinced?
I’m a bloated organ about to rupture.

The pre-dawn hours break like a fever
and I emerge from my delirium.
The kind eyes of the doctor and the
contrite look on the nurse’s face.

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Unit 42 Haiku

National Poetry Month, which takes place each April, is a celebration of poetry introduced in 1996. Those of you who follow The Teal Diaries are aware that I don’t normally write poetry, however I’ve been inspired during my cancer treatments to pen a small collection. There are few experiences in life as distressing or traumatic as being hospitalized for cancer surgery. In December 2011, I underwent surgery and was cared for on Unit 42 at Calgary’s Foothills Hospital. Many of the events that transpired are represented in the poetry that you will read here. I’ve chosen to write haiku because of the format’s simplicity and it’s ability to convey powerful emotions or striking images.

blue slippers and gown
an eternity passes
in the pre-op room

when he cuts me open
no tumour for my collection
crave smooth healthy organs

anesthesia mask
a few deep breaths are drawn
on my way to oblivion

recovery room
the bright lights overhead
I’m dropped into darkness

conscious, I arrive
the darkness welcomes me
on a winter night

the room is spinning
I long for perfect stillness
let this voyage end

van-gogh-starry-night

I have nurse Crystal
the post surgery hours pass
finally, the dawn

they manage my pain
senses are dulled with morphine
the standard dosage

compression bandage
covers my fresh incision
my surgeon’s trademark

first blood transfusion
my outstretched arm is waiting
for type O to come

my blanket is thin
comfort of warm flannel sheets
during the still night

this building is old
mid-twentieth century
these rooms are vintage

generations past
have walked slowly down these halls
now I follow them

19th Century Surgery

I have a roommate
a Dutch Lutheran woman
her prognosis is grave

new complications
nausea, fluid leaks out
doctors seem unsure

hard recovery
my progress has been so slow
a mountain each day

my carcinoma
hides under a microscope
in some nearby lab

the truth will ooze out
why conceal my pathology
daze me with a pill

he stops by my room
cancer spread to one lymph node
the truth is laid bare

too much of this place
even the walls scream go home
find the strength to heal

past empty wheelchairs
through the lobby Christmas Eve
out hospital doors

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