I had another clear scan last week, and found this poem I’d written back in 2017 when I was sitting in the main concourse of Addenbrooke’s Hospital nervously drinking tea before having radiotherapy.
Who’s Worse? by Stevie Turner
Here I sit and drink my tea
Before my appointment in Oncology.
A sea of people pass before my eyes,
Fat ones, thin ones; every shape and size.
On their way to who knows what?
Maybe to see a doctor and find out what they’ve got.
Whatever they have I bet I can see
Someone here who’s worse off than me.
Yes, there he is, a little old dude
In a wheelchair and with an oxygen tube.
*
Here I sit in my wheelchair and seethe
‘Cos I’ve smoked all my life and now I can’t breathe.
I’m on this pill and that one, green, red and blue,
Still no difference; I can’t even walk to the bloody loo.
Never mind, my old lady will wheel me off
To Respiratory, where they’ll get me to cough
And breathe out into that tube which I can’t do,
Because of cigarettes, ‘cos I’ve smoked quite a few.
Oh well, Maybe I can see
Someone here who’s worse off than me.
There she is, poor old cow,
No arms, no legs, just a torso.
*
My motorised wheelchair is the best,
I get around from east to west.
Along the hospital corridors I fly
To see my mate who’s going to die.
I was born this way, I know no other,
I’m used to it; it’s really no bother.
I overtake a dude with an oxygen mask,
Who’s wheezing like every breath’s his last.
And a thin woman sitting drinking her tea,
No hair under that scarf that I can see.
Poor lady, so sad to be that way,
At least I’ll see another day.
She gives me a smile as she sips her tea
As she probably thinks… there’s someone who’s worse off than me.
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