Welcome from Amy D. Unsworth

Language, Literature, Learning & Life.




Post-date Billing

All night I toss and turn, dreaming of the doctor's office,
of the treatment room, of the intersection of the IV and
my veins. The half-awake sleep of chemotherapy
floating between the mind's desire to dream of health
and the physical body's agony. There are days I can't
remember: the first day of treatment, the day I refused
any drug they offered to calm my stomach, to relieve
anxiety, pain. The day I swore at the onocologist surrounded
by his interns. I do remember the following morning, the suprise
when the doctor asked if I had decided to live. I don't remember
asking to die. Last night, months from treatment, the anxiety
came back. This time, the dream of sickness, awaking
to health, to scars healed and fading, to home. I cannot
drink enough water to wash the taste from my mouth.

4 comments:

Andrew Christ said...

Is this writing autobiographical?

Amy D. Unsworth said...

Yes, it is. Does that make a difference?

Thanks for stopping in to read

Best,
Amy

Dick said...

Hi, Amy. By virtue both of subject and personal experience (and, yes, it does make a difference), this poem shocks and unsettles. I meant to comment when I read it first, but couldn't get past the great cancer inhibition thing that makes people dumb when confronted with the immediate actuality. I think it's a fine poem, as haunting as the dream, but ending in in more positive territory. Is it in order to ask what the general prognosis is?

Amy D. Unsworth said...

Hello again Dick,

Thanks again for stopping by to read. I appreciate it, perhaps more than you realize. I'm a year and change past my last treatment, and on follow up checkups with no sign of any problems last check.

I think one of the strangest things is that "cancer inhibition" and I know that people are terrified of saying the wrong thing,I have been there on the speachless-side in the past when other people have been diagnosed. But really, I just live the life I'm given like everyone else. I've just had fair warning to open up my eyes and appreciate what good surrounds me.

Kiss those babies one more time. . .

Best,
Amy