In November 2013 I commenced 37 sessions of daily radiotherapy treatment designed to zap the cancer that lurks in my prostate. The process is painless yet peculiar as one is laid down and reversed into this science fiction "tunnel" where remotely controlled claws fire beams at the pre-determined cancerous target. The nurses are invariably charming and considerate. 37 sessions, of course, allow my fecund imagination time to arrange words and rhymes to attempt to capture this odd period of my life...
Into The Tunnel
Stating my name, address and date of birth,
I'm positioned on the slab, upward staring,
Into the tunnel, what will the Radio unearth?
Head-scarved women reposition, ever caring,
The nurses leave and I'm alone with the beams
That chirp, that tweet, yes they’re impairing..
Bad cells breaking bad, or so it seems,
Inside the tunnel, doing time, and staring,
Feeling okay, but the writing’s on the wall,
These are the hard yards, the poison unerring,
Nuking the cancer is the siren’s call,
The prostate in cross-hairs, the bladder burning.
The claw swivels ‘round and zeroes on the groin,
Friends have called to ask how I'm faring,
“Who knows with this crapshoot, this toss of the coin?
Whether the zapping works, whether I'm repairing?”
I just lie there each day, like a man overboard,
Counting the treatments, the schedule unsparing,
This tunnel of bad love, in the Radiotherapy ward