In 2013 I had a scare for breast cancer. It turned out to be benign gynaecomastia, but for a few days I was obviously worried. In the aftermath and heaving a sigh of relief, I wrote the following. The Clive referred here is Clive James, whose lyric writing I have always admired.
The One That Took My Place (The Lump)
George Papavgeris, February 2014
It could, perhaps it should, have been my turn.
I thought it really was there, for a while…
I’d done the tests but had to wait to learn
If I had reached at last the final mile.
The signs were easy enough to see: some pain,
But worst of all a lump, there in the breast.
And no, no muscle hardened from some strain,
But hurting like a bruise each time I pressed.
So I lined up with the ladies for the scans,
Biopsies, and palpating, the full show.
And right away I started making plans
And lists of wishes, and how best to go.
Amazing how such things focus the mind
On what’s important and what is by the by.
Even a worm is beautiful, you find,
When there are no more answers in the sky.
But it was not to be – least not this time.
And when it will, and how, I still don’t know.
No one describes this better than old Clive,
In lines he wrote a lifetime ago:
These were his words: “I don't know which is worst,
To know he'll come but not to know the way,
To know he'll make a play but not know how.
Is he somewhere out there setting up the gun?
Is this headache from his crosswires on my brow?”
Apparently four hundred guys each day
Discover such a lump and take pause.
But the statistics, and the doctors, say
That of them all, just one will have true cause.
So I hope you’ll understand that, though I’m free,
Tomorrow, as I join once more the race,
Try as I might, I know that I will be
Still thinking of the one that took my place.
