The Waiting Years

The panic has faded,
the whirlwind has passed,
The days that moved quickly
now drift by so fast.

No urgent phone calls,
no scans every week,
No searching for answers
to questions I seek.

Just tablets each morning,
a blood test each quarter,
A life that feels calmer,
though no less important.

The PSA whispers
its number to me,
Each result a reminder
of where I might be.

I watch for rock bottom,
that magical score,
The number that tells me
the treatment is sure.

And when it arrives,
I’ll smile for a while,
Perhaps raise a pint
and sit back with a smile.

Yet somewhere behind it,
a truth always stays,
A shadow that lingers
through all of my days.

For cancer’s a tenant
that rarely moves out,
It sits in the distance,
of that there’s no doubt.

Today it lies sleeping,
held fast in its cage,
By science and medicine,
wisdom and age.

One day it may stir,
one day it may rise,
Appearing once more
on the blood test surprise.

But that day’s not today,
and that’s all I need know,
For today’s PSA
still refuses to grow.

So I’ll fish, laugh and wander,
see grandchildren play,
Share a pint with good friends
and enjoy every day.

The future can wait,
it will come when it must,
Until then I’ll live,
and in living, I’ll trust.

Not cured.
Not beaten.
Not finished.
Not done.

Just quietly winning,
one blood test at a time.