Lambs to the Slaughter
©2024 Susan Noyes Anderson
Image by Getty Images via Unsplash
Is everyone here filled with dread,
or am I the exception?
These people seem too tranquil for
Oncology reception.
Or maybe just resigned, a state
my mind has not yet reached.
Even the day before treatment,
my boundaries feel breached.
It starts Sunday with nagging thoughts
that my respite is ending.
The next day, chemo will re-fry my veins.
Ugh. It’s unending.
The harsh, redundant thrum of
caner treatment wounds the soul.
It’s jarring – mainlining toxins
to make your body whole.
The irony of ironies
(its message cruelly mixed)
is how deadly the catalyst must be
to get you fixed.
And that notion assaults my peace.
Such madness! Pure disorder.
I hate to seem inflexible,
but chemo breaks my border.
It violates all reason, and
it violates me, too.
I wonder if these other patients
feel the way I do –
Imperiled, through and through.
Warehoused, in shades of blue.
∞∞∞
If this poem resonates with you, you might also relate to Chemo, A Walk into the Jungle and Cancer Drains, Love Remains. Other poems related to cancer are pictured below.
Tags: cancer, cancer treatment, chemotherapy
