Please fill in this form, says the lady,
So I sit with pen in hand,
And look through the form,
That lists illnesses and maladies,
Many of which I’ve never heard of,
But there, about half way down the page,
It says ‘serious illness’
And in brackets (cancer).
Should I tick the box?
I hesitate as voices from deep below,
From dark crevices of my childhood,
Whisper sibilently into my ear,
And urge me to tell the truth,
Whilst other voices close nearby,
Fill me with temptation’s fear,
And as they battle for my soul,
I reach over and tick the box.
There it is done.
The lady looks at the form,
Oh dear, she says,
Just wait a minute, and walks away,
Then comes back to say sorry,
Sorry, we can’t give you a massage,
You with the cancer,
We can’t give you a massage,
We don’t give massages to people like you.
I plead pathetically for a while,
But I’ve had lots of massages I say,
Might spread it, they reply,
What? What kind of medical hogwash is that!
And I walk out, angry and,
Determined to make a stand,
But I feel like crying.
(see Refused)
