“Sit up,” she said
It was an order
But how could I?
There I was, laid on the sofa
Studying the ceiling had become my chief occupation
My body so weak I could hardly sit up
But she insisted
“Sit up,”
“Have you been constipated?” she had asked
As she examined my lower abdomen
“No, exactly the opposite,” I had said
My antennae were wobbling about
Thinking they had detected something
What had she felt in my abdomen?
If I was honest
My abdomen had not been quite right
Not for some time
But I didn’t want to think about that
“Sit up,” she commanded
What did she want me to sit up for?
I obeyed
And immediately fell into
The hugest retching coughing fit ever
“You’ve got a cough,” she said
“Great observation,” I thought
“It’s O.K.” I said
It’s nothing”
“It’s quite a deep one,” she said
With a look of concern
I continued to cough and retch
She continued to be concerned
“You smell nice,” I said to her
“What have you got on?”
“I have no idea what I have got on,” she said
Her clothes were beautiful
She kept covering up her long black hair
Then the covering slipped revealing her flowing hair again
She was close to me
Very close
I felt her anxiety and worry
It closed around me, suffocating almost
“You need to go to the hospital,” she said
My mind was in denial
“It’s just a cough,” I said
She felt the lumps around my neck again
“You need these lumps looking at
It’s probably only an infection
We need to get you the right antibiotics”
I relaxed, laid back and studied the ceiling again
The embossed pattern on the sofa made my skin itch again
My spots were oozing blood
“Just an allergy,” I said
But inside I knew something serious was going on
I pushed the thought away
“I’ll make an urgent referral,” she said
Now I really WAS worried
Inside my mind I wasn’t going
It was just an allergy
She left
I studied the ceiling again
Not much had changed
It was still the same
Same colour
Same cracks
I began to writhe in agony
My skin was itching, crawling, on fire
“Quick, get water,” I said to my husband
“Put it on my skin “
He did
But my skin was alive
Leading a life of its own
I hadn’t signed the consent form
And neither did I sign the consent form for cancer
But I had it

23 thoughts on “IT’S NOTHING

  1. Poor you! I really felt your anxiety and your pain, and fortunately – judging by the date – you have survived. Which, of course, is the best possible news. Husband and I also survived cancer. Mine was cervical and I had an op before any pain started, which was successful. My husband received radio therapy for six weeks and was also lucky. The medical care in Spain is top notch.Here’s to a healthy future and a ,long life.Best wishes.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. blindzanygirl

    Thankyou so much Joy. The chemo left me blind and wheelchair bound, with no feeling in my hands and feet, and much of my body, including face. My husband is also in a wheelchair, but we survive. We have to! I am in remission now, thank goodness and, not being able to do much else, I give myself to writing poetry and stories of all kinds 😊. Thank God I can still do that! I am glad to hear that you and your husband came through it. That time when youare told though, is a killer! I think Iwent into denialakmost. But tes, gere’s to the future. 😊


  3. blindzanygirl

    Lol Val. I am not doing it for catharsis, as I have written it all down before, and talked about it in another setting. I am more doing itbto bring peoplebtogether who have had any similar experiences. I am not doung it for myself. But lol about the consent bit. Ibdon’t know why that came to me but it did!


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s