The big glass doors slide open and sadness shuffles in;
Hairless head is in a scarf so baldness won’t offend.
We say, “How are you today? Will you please sign in?
I’ll be glad to take you there—yes, they’ve moved again.”
Radiation’s now on four, Chemo’s moved to three;
Changes week to week it seems—we’re in flux, you see.
“Here’s a wheelchair. Just sit tight, and I’ll take you there.
Certainly, when your son comes, I will show him where.”
One man, I remember, I was taking up to three;
We talked as I was pushing him, and he said to me,
“I just want to make it ‘til my kids are on their own
Then the Lord can take me; I’ll be ready to go home.”
Silent suffering, helplessness, courage wearing thin,
Still, they nod and try to smile as they struggle in,
Knowing, in their weakened state, it will just get worse;
Hoping, in their heart of hearts, that it will reverse.
Often times I want to cry, but of course, I can’t
Where’s the cure for cancer? I want to scream and rant!
What have they been doing all these years, I’d like to know?
Cancer took my husband right here, twenty years ago.
He volunteered for research, called Phase I – quite an ordeal;
For thirteen months he fought the fight; I watched the cancer steal
His years of growing old with me—the years he should have had.
I was furious with cancer and so very, very sad.
When it’s noon I say goodbye. My volunteering done;
Walking to my car, I think of those who’re in Phase One—
Guinea pigs, for after all, what have they got to lose?
Testing yet more chemicals is what they bravely choose;
Hoping that their final days will not be spent in vain.
Maybe through their efforts, some new knowledge will be gained.
I hope that just our talking with them, lets them know we care
And maybe helps a little with the mighty load they bear.
|
