Counting Down

I have an apology to make, for I think I may have been avoiding writing this post. I’ve missed a number of key moments that it would have been savvy to tie in with, the end of a friend’s chemotherapy, my own diagnosis anniversary, and more beside. I suppose there’s that sense of and ending. This isn’t the last post on this blog, but it’s the last one about chemotherapy. I wonder, do you avoid ending things? Last episodes, last pages, relationships, biscuits, things that are more comfortable being there. 

It’s a strange experience, counting down your chemotherapy sessions, which if you’ve read all my posts you’ll know that I found the whole of cancer treatment to be. Every day is counting, clock watching, diary crossing off. And after it, there’s a sort of void. Healthcare staff know about it, there are courses you can go on to help you return to real life after you finish. My advice is, consider all the options you’re provided with. Because when things end, they aren’t normal yet. 

So, finally, I wrote this. Hope you enjoy it. 

Countdown

Every day you have been counting down, 

Clock watching, diary crossing off.
Hello, Cape Canaveral. 

And now, zero. 

Into the unknown you blast.

At press conferences, you explain your excitement to be 

Back at the wheel, controls, buttons.

Faceless microphones ask, are you ready?

You reply that you can’t wait. 

As all of the world appears in your view again, you

Smile.

Then your stomach does that flip.

You push the smile and argue with 

yourself, this is a repeat mission,

I’ve flown this ship before.