---

Friday Comes Too Soon

For four long weeks I’ve made the trip,
The same road there and back,
Bottle filled, appointment checked,
Little routines packed.

The treatment room, the waiting chairs,
The smiles behind the desk,
The nurses asking how you are,
Though they’ve answered it hundreds, I’d guess.

The radiographers with steady hands,
Who joke while lining you straight,
Who somehow make a cancer ward
Feel less like fear and fate.

And then the waiting room itself,
That strange and honest place,
Where people who have never met
Still somehow share the space.

Normally in hospital
We stare down at the floor,
Avoiding eyes and awkward chats,
And wishing to be out the door.

But not in there.
Not this crowd.
The silence never stayed.
Someone would laugh, or tell a tale,
Or speak of plans they’d made.

A shared experience perhaps,
A club none chose to join,
Yet somehow full of kindness still
In every small exchange.

And now as Friday edges near,
A thought feels strange but true,
I know I’ll walk back through those doors
And miss the whole thing too.

Not the cancer.
Not the bed.
Not the pills or endless wee.
But the people who stood in that moment
And somehow carried me.

It’s a funny old world really.
You walk in frightened and sore,
And leave a little sad because
You won’t be there anymore.