Walleah Press

Famous Reporter 41 : June 2010

Home

Famous Reporter 41

Google

GEOFF GOODFELLOW

           The Seventh Doctor

The first doctor i saw was my

local GP

       he said i had the flu

& the lump in my neck

was bunched up muscle

       he told me to go home–

drink plenty of water

& eat Panadeine Forte & Valium

 

i saw him again five days later–

& told him i’d hardly slept

       he sent me home once more

& told me to add sleeping tablets

to the mix

 

two days later when i was

dangerously dizzy

       like dad when he was drunk

& disorderly

       i drove myself to the public

hospital

 

some people said to me later

i was silly &  should have

called an ambulance

       but i’m not in the ambulance

fund

       & i didn’t have money for a

taxi

       & i’m an independent

bastard too

 

after a near side-swipe to

a neighbour’s car just

a hundred metres from home

        i sat up pretty quick–

thinking of the thickness of a coat

of paint

       & i rolled the window down

& caught the breeze

       it was a slow five k drive                                        

 

after a few minutes in the emergency

waiting room i thought i was going

to fall off the chair

       so i asked to lie down on a

stretcher

       a man with a grey flecked beard

came across & spoke

       he told me they were reserved for

sick people & i should stay in my chair

       i told him he’d be sick if he didn’t

wheel the stretcher over  for me NOW

 

after i’d lain down he leaned over me

& said

       you’ll   have to get off  if anyone

comes in who really needs it

       i suggested he’d better be able to

fight if he thought i’d be getting  off

 

it only took another five hours & i was

moved in to see the second doctor

       when he saw how awkward i was–

& noticed how long it took me to sit

upright

       & saw i hadn’t shaved for a week

& heard   my slurred speech

       he folded his arms & told me to go

home       have a sleep        & go back & see

that first doctor

 

i told him to get fucked

       met his eyes

& said that if he didn’t look at me

properly

       i’d spread him over the floor

 

after a look & a feel he sent me

for a cat scan

      

when i returned he said

       i’ve called in a specialist–

you might have to wait for an hour

or so because he’s coming from

another hospital

 

when i saw the third doctor he said

       you are very sick–

you have an infected abscess

& it’s very close to the voice box

       you’ll need to go into a bed

upstairs

       you may need an operation

in the morning

 

when they got me installed upstairs

i saw the fourth doctor

       he said

you’d better prepare yourself

       this could be the big c

 

i thought i’d already met the big c

when i saw that second doctor

 

in the morning i met the fifth doctor

        a woman–

who one day later told me i did have

cancer

       but the way she told me  

made me think she was the big  c

       the lady doctor  told me to go

home        she said they’d ring me

with a time to go to another hospital

       to see another doctor

 

after a week when no one had rung

       i rang the hospital

  

i spoke to a sixth doctor who told me

they never said they would ring me

       he said i was confused–

& that i should wait for a phone call

       or a letter

 

i told the sixth doctor that maybe

he was confused

       i said i remembered what

i’d been told

 

he said

       no        you are confused

we will tell you when we want to see

you

        & we’ll do that by letter or phone–

whatever suits us best

        if you don’t like it–

you know what to do

       you can go private & call the tune

& have doctors suit your timetable

 

i reminded the sixth doctor

i was a public patient & had no

private cover

       but i told him too i was

an old fashioned bloke

 

i said

       i’ll keep an eye on the letterbox

& an ear out for the phone

        but i’ll go outside every hour

& check the roof for homing pigeons

       so feel free to send your instructions

by carrier pigeon

       i’ve got a long ladder & a seventeen

foot high wall & i feel quite confident

i can climb the ladder & open up

the metal band & retrieve any messages

you might like to send  

       i’m happy to use the old technology–

or the new        i’ll leave it up to you

 

the sixth doctor suggested we end the call

 

with respect       i said

       maybe i am confused & i don’t really

have cancer

       can you confirm that i actually do

have cancer

 

yes        he replied        you do

 

& can you confirm that i did have an

ultra sound examination

 

yes        he replied         you did

 

& while i freely admit i don’t have much

medical knowledge

        i do have a good understanding

of the nuances of language & speech

       & i do believe when the ultra sound

examination was carried out

        there was a good deal of surprise in

the voices of the five or six people

behind me in that darkened room

       would you  agree on that point

 

yes       he replied       i agree

 

& while i don’t want to appear pedantic

       would you agree that four      or perhaps

even five biopsy samples were removed

during that examination

        i’m sure i do remember the pull on the

flesh

       & i’m sure i heard instructions

on how deep to go       one point five

centimetetres       two centimetres

etcetera      etcetera

       i mean i won’t argue on the number

of biopsies or the depth of the needles

       it’s the procedure i’m referring to–

would you agree that i did in fact have several

biopsy samples taken

 

yes        he replied        i agree

 

well thank you       i said

       i’ll keep an eye on the letterbox

       an ear out for the phone

       & i’ll check the roof hourly

thank you doctor for your decency

                                 your humanity

                             & your kindness

    

& we both hung up

 

after a few more weeks i got to meet

the seventh doctor       a surgeon

       a decent bloke who showed me

decency & got it in return

       he explained my condition

in a language i could understand

        his handshake was as solid as

his eye contact & i liked his style

 

the seventh doctor had me lie on the

operating table for a biopsy

on my tongue because they couldn’t

locate my primary

       the cancer in my neck was a secondary

 

on the day of the op he & his team all wore

blue overalls       white gumboots

caps & masks

       they looked like concrete finishers

on a building site

       but their hands were soft & their vowels

were rounded

 

before i was sent off to sleep

the seventh doctor talked to me

about painting

       & Robert Hannaford

& poetry        & art as therapy

       he sure didn’t sound like

a concrete finisher

 

when i awoke i was put into a ward of

other old men who coughed all night

& kept one another awake

       & when the screen curtains were  

drawn in the morning

        i asked the man alongside me

if he’d like a Rothmans plain

 

in his morning haze he couldn’t fathom

my joke

 

later that morning i met a tribe of surgical

doctors who told me to go home

        my results would take five days

to process

 

but at six o’clock that night i had

to go back

       the abscess had started to swell

again

       & i met doctor eight

 

he arranged my re-admission & i was

given a different bed in the same ward

& dripped with antibiotics

       when i awoke in the morning my chin

was a mass of sores

       & my bottom lip looked as though

it had been pumped with botox

 

doctors nine & ten came to see me after

i asked the nurse to get me a doctor

       but they were completely baffled

 

they didn’t seem to be much older than

my teenage daughter

       & when they started mentioning the

possibility of  a staf infection

       the nurse looked really alarmed

 

doctor nine suggested to doctor ten

they should go & look in their books to

see if they could identify the problem

 

when they left i told the nurse i’d like

to see a grown-up doctor

       i was scared        & so was she

 

when she came back with doctor eleven

she told him she’d like to move me from

the ward to a private room

 

doctor eleven said he didn’t deem that

necessary

       he suggested it was maybe school sores

 

i suggested it might be cold sores

       but doctor eleven couldn’t agree

 

i said i wanted to see a specialist

        it was a teaching hospital

& they must have someone capable of

an accurate diagnosis

 

by the time doctor twelve arrived the

nurse had panicked & moved me to

a private room

        i repeated to doctor twelve

i thought it might be cold sores due to

stress

       but he couldn’t agree either

 

the following morning a tribe of surgical

doctors looked at me

       & no one seemed too sure

 

it was then that doctor thirteen came

to my bedside & cut the heads off

some of the pustules & swabbed me

 

days later        when the results finally arrived

        the spread had really increased

& the lip grown larger

       & i did in fact have cold sores–

but they called it herpes simplex virus

 

two days later they sent me home

with a bottle of condy’s crystals

       & packets of anti viral tabs

 

about two weeks further down the track

i met doctor fourteen       a dental doctor

       the split corners of my mouth were

still healing but she needed to inspect my

gums & teeth before my neck dissection  

the next day

       i asked her to be careful       said i

didn’t have a big mouth

       (although i’m sure some doctors

[& others] would dispute that)

       but she treated me with care–

stating that i did have a small opening

(& though i enjoy puns        i said nothing)

        her advice was to get a tube of

Daktarin cream & use it overnight

        but more importantly–

to smear it over the corners of my mouth

just prior to the operation

       she said it would be likely to stop

any cold sores from coming back

       & she was right

 

that next morning i saw doctor seven

again        in the same operating theatre

       he had his tribe of surgical doctors to

back him up along with two anaesthetists

& a few nurses

        as i was wheeled in        

my eyes scanned for familiar faces

       doctor eight was smiling broadly

so i winked at him     

        he understood my style & his smile

broadened

 

a couple of days later doctor eight

told me the surgical team had read

some of my poetry aloud as i was going

off

       that was doctor seven’s idea

 

doctor eight said they’d stopped because

some of it seemed a little ‘R’ rated

        he said that after some of my lines

were read he remembered hearing me read

when he was a teenager at St Peter’s College

       i remarked that it must have been

during Ray Stanley’s reign

       when the school was a bit more liberal–

& more than just one voice was heard

 

he laughed at that

                             & i laughed too

 

i wasn’t laughing when i woke up from 

the neck dissection though

       it was 5:20pm when i sighted the clock

in the intensive care unit & i was feeling

cranky

       squinting        wondering where my glasses

were        & trying to calculate how long i’d been

lying there        & did they know i was awake

 

at 7:30pm they wheeled me back to the ward

       the same one i’d been in before but again–

a different berth

 

& there to greet me was my girlfriend Emily

& my youngest son Paul

       we counted backwards & calculated

it must have been a long operation

        they said the wound looked like i’d

been carved up with a broken flagon

       they said a bottle would have been

far too small       they said it looked scary–

       & because i couldn’t see what

my visitors saw

        i asked a nurse for a mirror

 

it scared me too

 

by 9pm though i was asking for food

       as much to my own surprise as that of

my visitors

        but the swallowing wasn’t fun

 

doctor seven had cut me from the bottom

of my left earlobe

       to the top of my collarbone

then curled around & up to my adam’s apple

       it was a cut as big as a baling hook

& with its thirty metal staples

       it looked almost as shiny & nearly as

dangerous

 

he’d performed his surgery on Holy Thursday

20^th March 2008

       & with the neck muscle removed he’d

left a hole        but he’d taken the tumour too

(intact we hope)        & with  two previous

infections it had been quite a messy job

 

he was back at my bedside on Good Friday

morning        away from his own four kids

         explaining that i’d gone through the

easy part of the treatment

        that the chemo & the radiation were

to come in about six weeks

        after the wound had healed

 

he told me to go home & get into

the full cream milk       the banana smoothies

       all the chocolate i could eat      & anything else

that took my fancy & was fattening

       to get some weight on because i’d sure

as hell get it stripped off in six weeks time

       he told me too that my voice box had been

welded to the tumour

       that he’d had to cut it free & there’d

been some nerve damage & my voice mightn’t

improve a lot on what i had at that point

       but i was still talking

& i was still listening

        grateful to have doctor seven on my side

 

it was a good Friday to get that news

       i lay in bed eating Easter eggs–

silver paper & cellophane

surrounding me       

       chocolate        sliding down my throat.

Geoff Goodfellow's first collection No Collars No Cuffs, first published in 1986, is now in its 9th printing. Eight books have followed, most running into multiple print runs. Geoff's poem 'The Seventh Doctor' is the anchor poem for his forthcoming collection Waltzing with Jack Dancer: a slow dance with cancer.