The Scan Verdict

Waiting Room

Silence.

Tongues that only an hour ago were wet
with the flow of conversation
lie in parched mouths,
words stuck to them like beached fish.

Mr Brownlow, please.

Sitting in a horseshoe of chairs
like cub scouts,
tired eyes probe the floor
where colourful hopes and plans
melt away
like cellophane sweet wrappers
dumped onto a Christmas fire.

Mrs Webster…

A door closes like a clapperboard,
sending a wave of movement
through the scene.
A few of us turn to flick through
blurred long lens photos
of celebrity lives,
frozen without permission.

Mr Halliday…

The nurse closes the door.
Sits behind me.
I look across my scrawled history,
past the doctor
and far enough through the window
to see a boy running up a slope,
his fragile kite fluttering far behind him
a few feet off the ground.




It's never a good moment, heading in for this kind of news. There was great anxiety, to be honest. However, in a nutshell, there doesn't seem to have been much cancer activity since my last scan and this is really good. In fact, barring the news of a miraculous healing which had caused the entire York Oncology team to join their local churches, it's probably as good as we could have hoped for. The doctor we spoke to yesterday said that the shadow on my lung probably is a tumour, but again there hasn't been much significant change. So, thankfully no more chemo now or, indeed, through the summer. Again, we are really pleased, as the summer is a significant family time with all of us off school for six weeks! Camping in the Lake District wouldn't have been quite the same with daddy retching as if to die at the other side of the tent...



The children are all well and blissfully unaware of the build up to the scan verdict. We await the news about Joel's possible placement in a 'special school' nearby, which is far better suited to meet his needs. It will hopefully come in the next few weeks. Talking about Joel, the phrase "Be sure your sins will find you out," was brought to mind last Sunday evening when I was trying to secretly burn a load of branches in the garden incinerator. (Apologies to all you environmental activists but two parents at school who were heavy smokers have just given up, so I thought it reasonable...). I had just about got away with it and no neighbours had complained when suddenly Joel burst through the back door wearing only his pants and started running around the garden yelling "Fire! Fire! Fire!" in his loudest voice. I had visions of our windows being smashed by courageous passers-by hoping to save us. Fortunately, I managed to wrestle him to the ground and bundle him back indoors. There's a lesson in there somewhere...