Friday, 11 January 2013

No Beastie Under The Bed

Many thanks to those of you who get in touch from time to time and ask about my prostate cancer. I saw my consultant recently and I my PSA has gone up from 0.9 to 2.7. However, I feel fine and haven’t had a burst of hormones since October 2010 (Each injection lasts three months and I had three that year.) It appears that if my PSA remains less than 4.0 for another six months or more I may well be able to continue with the hormone therapy and avoid radiotherapy. Fingers crossed...


Now, like many very young children, I used to force myself to look under the bed and in any cupboards to reassure myself there was no Beastie there waiting to pounce on me once I fell asleep.

Well, you will be pleased to know I no longer do that particular security check before settling down to sleep.  Even so, you will realise there is a Beastie of sorts that causes me some concern now and then. Yes,  hormone therapy is managing my prostate cancer so far, but I am very much aware that the cancer is there inside me. Most of the time, I forget about it. Now and then, though, especially at night, I find its presence more than a shade unnerving. So I do what I used to do as a child, and work a magic spell. I think of nice things, nice people, nice places, until my head is full of all things NICE that's sure to keep the nasty Beastie away. It a trick that never fails, and if I don’t get a good night’s sleep sometimes it’s invariably down to certain calls of nature better answered than ignored...


There’s was a Beastie
under my bed, eyes glowing red
like a devil
in the fires of Hell,
willing me
to descend, put an end
to all living artifice,
make the ultimate sacrifice,
set the body free
(in other words, surrender
to the Beastie ?)

There was a Beastie
under my bed, looking for a way
to get into my head
and indulge its penchant
for mind games,
challenge me to defy
a necessary evil
or demand I answer why
I’ll not cave in
to the inevitable, dare me
do battle

There was a Beastie
under my bed; like a cancer
it has spread
news of its purpose
to my brain,
but there it was put to rout
(if not without a fight)
for Brain knows every trick
every Book (and more)
exposing Beasties sixk intentions
to a higher power

There was a Beastie
under my bed, face a puffy red
as it returns
to where there still burns
a welcome
for its kind if likely
to meet its match
in the human spirit, burning
more brightly than some
devilish hearth in the bowels
of metaphor

No Beastie under my bed,
for its recognising a greater foe;
though it feed on my body,
no true or lasting gratification
to be had where flesh
but a coat of many colours
lent by Earth Mother
to distinguish friend from foe
until our return
to Her womb, the likes of Beastie
denied entry

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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