Diary, Poetry, Reflective

It’s bad news I’m afraid.



Optimism fills my bones.

It courses through my veins like a pulsating light of hope that

Only dims when I look into your confused eyes.


A reassuring smile appears.

It forces my mouth into a defiant line of strength and courage that

Quivers with the effort of it all as you return the smile.


We’re here to rule things out.


You see that lift? That’s where you want to be.

But you can’t go through those doors…

You go out here, then left, straight on, round to the right.

Past the ‘staff only’ sign, another left and next right.

You want C8.

I stopped listening at ‘lift’.

I only heard ‘C8’


It’s a quest to complete, then.

More information than I first thought had gone in and

In just five minutes we’re waiting again.


A mere three hours after our arrival,

The similarity with Beetlejuice, it’s myriad of characters nervously await

Their fate in death’s waiting room.


We’re here to rule things out.


Scan done, results pending then sending

Back to where we just came from.

That room filled with stories,

With the trials of souls who just

Want to know more.

What to do next?

How to progress?


Familiar faces still pensive and tense.

Our Ambulatory Care family of a day that feels like a week and then

The doctor calls us in.


All smiles, we enter behind him

And sit down on two mismatched chairs, one blue, one brown to listen

‘It’s bad news I’m afraid.’


But we’re here to rule things out.


A tumour, a swelling is what they’ve found.

The headaches, confusion, memory loss,

As my face goes numb, my hands grow heavy,

My throat constricts until I feel I may burst.

You’re smiling.

‘Well, if that’s what you say,

Then, yeah, can we go?’


What we came to rule out has cruelly been ruled in.

More scans tomorrow, more waiting to see where we go next but

For now we can leave.


Armed with steroids and instructions to follow.

The enormity of it all has evaded you but not me who must now drive us home

Who must now tell our boys.



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