Holly’s collection of cancer poems were written following her breast cancer diagnosis in January 2005. Her poems talk about her experience of diagnosis, treatment including surgery and treatment, side effects and talking to her sons about cancer. In today’s blog, Holly talks about explaining cancer to children and saying thank you to the people that helped her through.
Holly’s collection is called “Holly’s cancer poems…The truth behind my smile.” You can catch up with Holly’s story so far by reading her previous blogs on Community News:
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Talking about how you feel and getting the right support for you is really important. There’s lots of support available here on the Online Community, from other people who know that it can help to share experiences. We have online forums including a Breast cancer forum. We also have an Express Yourself forum where members share their creativity including poems, art and photography.
Life is wonderful and I embrace it.
It tastes of chocolate, and I won’t waste it.
These poems are dedicated to all those who saved my life,
and to all those who have lost theirs to cancer.
I give them, with love and best wishes,
to anyone struggling with cancer,
or
trying to come to terms with
the loss of their
loved one.
With the help of poetry and a bit of waffle, we have travelled together through memories of my breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, and five months of chemotherapy and its side-effects. Let’s begin this section of the story of my cancer – 18 years ago – with a summary that was written at the time. Again, I will finish with a giggle about the trots.
(29/8/2005)
A year ago, how could I have known
That cancer would wreak havoc in my happy home.
I’d changed my career and made a new start
Serving meals to bird lovers at Welney’s Wildfowl Park.
Then, at the turn of the year I found a breast lump
That suddenly made all my new hopes and dreams slump.
How could I have known that the coming year
Would be filled with treatment and cancer fear?
How can we know what the future will bring?
It is an ethereal and intangible thing.
We must just savour each day to the last –
Drink of its riches until the last draught.
Let the future wend its mysterious way
As we live to the full each fine, precious day.
I honestly do meet each day with gratitude, knowing that I am living in a state of profit. I should have died 18 years ago, but finding the cancer early and having it treated thoroughly and fast saved my life. Sharing my cancer memories and experience, through my poems or conversation, is a way of saying ‘thank you’, hopefully helping others to survive, or just cope and understand what is happening to them – that they’re not alone.
I have worked in Pre-school groups for several years and, because of this, I thought that it might be good to have an explanation of cancer that children can understand.
(10/9/2005 – an explanation of cancer for children)
I’ve had some funny feelings in my tummy and below.
I’m not quite sure what’s causing them,
But would rather like to know.
There are rumblings and gurgles and the occasional loud flomp,
Some hissing sounds and wheezes too –
A seething, primeval swamp.
And oh! the flapping feelings that batter me inside,
I’m sure there’s a pterodactyl in there,
Perhaps I should try to hide.
What if a tyrannosaurus is stomping here and there –
He might eat me from the inside out –
I’m feeling rather scared.
But wait a minute, I’ve had a thought, I know what it’s about.
It’s the chemotherapy swampy stage,
Chasing cancersaurus monsters out!
I had a lumpy bit in my chest that the doctor took away.
Then I had lots of yucky medicine
To make me alive and well today.
The problem is the medicine is really rather harsh.
It made me sick and my mouth all sore,
And created this Jurassic tummy marsh.
My stomach’s all a-gurgle and my poo’s all runny too,
My eyes are scratchy sometimes –
It might sound pretty bad to you.
But all of these are little things that won’t last very long,
Then I’ll be much better,
And will have lost the swampy pong!
My hair fell out, but it’s growing now and soon will need a cut.
I have to say, I’ll be very pleased
When that pterodactyl leaves my gut!
So don’t be scared of cancer, if it comes to cause you strife.
Fight it quickly and you should win,
Then, get on with your normal life.
And if it’s Mum or Dad that’s ill, they’ll need you to be strong.
They’ll need your love and lots of hugs,
And love you always, no matter what is wrong.
They might get grumpy - I know I’ve been like that.
They may be tired and feeling sick,
Or lose their hair and wear a scarf or hat.
It is scary when you are ill, and it’s cancer that is found,
But with that fear you’ll find strength
And you’ll see there’s loads of help around.
Don’t be scared to cry or shout – it really is unfair.
But at the darkest moments
Know that love is always there.
It’s love, positivity and kindness that have always carried me through.
I’m feeling very much better
And now, send my best wishes to you.
I might make that monstrous ode into a book for children one day. There is a smashing book that I saw in a hospital waiting room once – When Granny lost her hair, by Sandy Green (ISBN 978-0-9560129-0-6), published by Powton Publications in Bath. Sandy has worked in the early years realm and survived breast cancer too. Like me, she thinks that children deserve an explanation of the world, given in a way that they can understand.
The next poem is a piece of information that I wish someone had shared with me in a hospital waiting room before I reached my last chemotherapy drugs infusion. This should have been a time of celebration or, at least, just yet another visit to the chemo department of the cancer unit. As it was, I was terrified that something would go wrong and, the night before my appointment, I could not sleep because I was so scared. My two darling sons slept with me to give me moral support, bless them. What wonderful chaps they were, and still are.
(27/9/2005 – written the night before my last chemotherapy treatment)
I should be elated, cock-a-hoop, overjoyed.
Instead, I’m scared and tearful, guarded by my Boys.
I’ve been grumpy all evening, snapping quickly at this and that,
Losing my temper in seconds flat.
You see, I’ve got this fearful dread
That tomorrow will go all wrong.
They won’t be able to find a vein,
Making the treatment take too long.
That will make the vessels collapse
And then they’ll start to burn.
I’ll keep quiet, as I always do,
But my colour will start to turn.
Or maybe I won’t resist the urge
To sweep the needle away.
Blood will spurt around the room
‘Til the nurses stop it and make it all okay.
I can picture the nurses having to stab
To make the canula fast.
My mind can see them, once, twice, thrice,
Then getting it in at last.
I’m feeling sick with hospital nerves
And tomorrow I’ll be worse.
In an attempt to calm myself,
I’m writing this anxious verse.
My two dear sons are sleeping with me
To keep at bay my fears.
But still, I feel the nausea rise
And my eyes brim full with tears.
I know, I hope, it will be alright
And my silly thoughts prove wrong.
But until it’s over and has gone just fine
The hours will seem awfully long.
It’s really foolish to be so scared
After all that I’ve been through,
But tell me, honestly, wouldn’t you be anxious
If it wasn’t me, but you?!
It was all fine, of course. Apparently, it is very common to be scared for the first and last treatments. Why didn’t the hospital folk warn me?!! Well, I’ve warned you now, so you won’t need to be scared, or feel stupid for being fearful. The staff of the Macmillan Cancer Units in the hospitals I was treated in were all wonderful – so kind, caring and supportive. Two of the nurses who spent all day, every day, squeezing syringes of chemicals into cannulas had to have surgery for carpel tunnel syndrome during my 7 months of chemo treatment. Their hands must have been painful before the surgery, but they never complained. On my last day at the Chemo Unit I gave the team gifts of sweet nibbles and a poem to say ‘Thank you’ for everything they had done for me.
(28/9/2005)
Here’s a little ode to say a fond adieu
To all the Macmillan Cancer Team,
And pass my grateful thanks to you.
To Margaret and to Carole who greet me with a smile
While I wind my hands in anti-bac juice
Having walked the corridor miles.
To the wonderful volunteers who bring drinks and welcome cheer
And speed the waiting minutes, full of boredom or of fear.
To Corinne, Cheryl, Helen, and Drs. A and Daly, at their desks,
Undertaking medicals to make sure the treatment’s doing its best.
But most of all, to the angels who are bound to pierce my hide,
And cringe as I make an involuntary twitch
While they ease the cannula inside.
They sit and hear me prattle, with a joke and tale to share –
The chemo treatment would be more dire
If they, with their gentle kindness, were not there.
I’m glad my treatment’s nearly done
But my feelings are split in twain –
I’ll miss Jo, Sharron, Miranda and Arleen so,
And say “thank you” yet again.
My chemo treatment was finally over, but it had taken its toll on my body and self-esteem. My hair was growing back – even with a little wave, which was very exciting because, like many straight-haired people, I craved curls. My face still wasn’t mine though. When would I start to look like my old self again? Would the old me ever return? I did … eventually.
(29/10/2005)
Who is that stranger looking at me
From my mirror?
The swollen face and thinly lashed,
Piggy eyes
Beneath scant eyebrows
Can’t be mine!
Can they?
That short, soft hair in infant wave
With strokes of grey,
And downy beard on sexless face –
Neither masculine girl
Or girlish man
Can’t be mine!
Can they?
Whose dull, veined eyes return my gaze?
Those deep, dark lines,
Pale, sallow skin, over-red cheeks
And false-smiling mouth
Can’t be mine!
Can they?
Where is ‘Me’?!
Finally, to finish this segment of my cancer journey, another giggle about the joy of having the trots, or not having them – hurray!
(4/11/2005 – written when, one day, I realised that I was no longer plagued by the trots)
The ‘trots’ have gone –
They’ve had their run!
Those days have passed
When I wiped my
Brow
With half a tree.
Oh yes!
Yippee!!!
!!!!!
!!!
!
We’d like to thank Holly for sharing her poetry with us. If you’re looking for support around a breast cancer diagnosis, there’s lots of people who might understand how you feel here on the Online Community. Why not take a look at our Breast cancer forum?
As Holly mentioned in her blog, her poetry is to say thank you and to help other people cope with their experiences of cancer. We hope you find Holly’s poetry helpful to read. If you’d be interested in exploring being creative, take a look at a Community member’s introduction to writing poetry.
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