Wake Up!

I begin with a poem I wrote about a week ago, entitled “Wake Up!”  …

 

Wake Up!         April 2008

 

A moment of madness,

There when I wake up.

Feeling OK for a brief span, sublime.

Then it is flooding back,

Harshest reality.

My days are over; I’ve run out of time.

 

My body’s ruined,

My system attacked

By a ravaging cancer that’s spreading so fast.

Now I’m accepting

For me there’s no future

But day-to-day viewing the shades of the past.

 

How long I have left

There’s no way of knowing,

So each day is borrowed, a cumbersome debt.

The payback is coming,

The interest growing,

An onerous burden that’s not quite here yet. 

 

For me it’s too early.

There’s so much to do,

But already the choices left to me are few.

No longer eating

Save liquid refreshment.

Too weak to exercise; too much to rue. 

 

I weep for my loved ones

And sigh for my friends.

Leaving them all is just not what I’d planned.

I so regret parting

With my dearest Tracy

A lifetime of love slips away just like sand. 

 

And yet I’m here now.

So how do I ration

The time that remains? How best to proceed?

Must earn, so I’m working;

Must sleep, so I’m dreaming;

Confusion is reigning; what else do I need? 

 

I think of those others

Departed before me,

Diminishing life spans just gone in a flash.

My parents, my sister,

Aunts, uncles and cousins

Are memories fading, their substance like ash. 

 

My treatment is looming,

So life could be lengthened.

But what will the cost of extended time be?

Will I be a zombie

Or creased up in agony?

Should quality not be my priority? 

 

Tonight my sweet daughter’s

Returning from India.

Tonight she’ll be told of her daddy’s demise.

Oh, how can we do this

To poor dear Charlie?

Her trip from the airport Hell in disguise. 

 

My kids are my real strength.

Through them I’m handling

This nightmare scenario with realism and calm.

I am so proud of them

And they’re providing

A future of sorts, living on beyond harm. 

 

My nurse from MacMillan

Has just been to see me,

A curious mixture of pathos and cheer.

I feel her pity,

It’s her great capacity,

Spreading it thinly with sugar and fear. 

 

Next week, radiotherapy.

Then, maybe, chemo.

My internet’s buzzing with promise for pay.

Cat’s Claw and Mistletoe,

Shitake, Shark Fin,

A few hundred dollars will see you OK. 

 

Yes, yes, I’m still standing

And yes, I’m still working.

My writing the proof of my presence – still here!

And sometimes forgetting,

Just lately ignoring

The fact of my passing, just trashing my fear. 

 

My body is thinner,

My eyes are much larger,

Their home darker craters in a shadow of me.

My strong hands are failing,

I know that I’m ailing,

Yet tell myself nothing of what is to be. 

 

Instinct takes over.

No self-preservation,

But deadly acceptance, a strange monstrous calm.

My soul’s insulation

A quiet intuition,

A knowing that I’m beyond all further harm. 

 

Your turn will come one day.

Perhaps, if you’re lucky,

You will make the best of what’s left of your time.

But if you should vanish

And leave without warning,

Here’s hoping you’ve already lived through your prime.

 

 

Well, that’s the poem. It’s not intended to be morbid – more of a self-knowledge process.