The Big C

As I’m wheeled in,
As I pretend to be intrepid from within;

I learn new acronyms – R-EPOCH, R-CHOP,

My new props,

That would hopefully help me again atop.

 

Rituximab, Doxorubicin,

Cyclophosphamide, Vincristine,

One by one, they shine dangling above me,

Like guaranteed freedom, by a decree.

And I lay there as these constellations burn down,

Taking me with them to the ground,

As I writhe in pain,

Because of disease or drugs, I wonder in vain!

 

Exploding head; The smell of death;

Fingers and toes numb; excruciating bone-pains leading to succumb;

The tasteless taste buds; the metallic taste that floods;

The churning tummy; all my strength, taken away from me;

The blindness episodes, and the palpitating heart that has to be ablated.

The countless transfusions; the confusions and the depression!

 

“You’ll get through this!”

“This too shall pass, Miss!”

“But if this doesn’t work,

You’d not have too much time to lurk!”

 

And I try to sit up wondering,

Would I just melt away like the snow?

Vanish like the clouds from the big velvety sky?

Am I being judged for not being strong enough?

To not make it through the cancer-chemo-cancer cycle?

Am I going to be just a mirror etched with my reflection,

Of a bed-ridden, incapacitated,

Bleeding, hurting, diseased person,

Counting the leaves that fall, in fall,

The number of goodbyes I’d get to call,

The embraces and love I’d get to give

In the moments that I’d get to live?