Lockdown Birthday 

My son was 10 yesterday.  

I thought it might be hard for him,  

us being buried away like winter grains.  

His classmates and friends also contained,  

in their homes or school-turned-silos.  

No gathering, games or singing between them.  

Solitary seedlings, simultaneously germinating.  

So, we set up a tent inside the living room,  

used a planetarium projector,  

borrowed from a kind friend,  

to illuminate the ceiling  

and played outdoor nighttime sounds.  

When he came down  

sleepily exited in the morning,  

he was met with an indoor campsite.  

The sound of crickets, the breeze and a log fire  

accompanied by a bright slice of the universe above his head.  

“Thank you!” he said, excited and happy.  

“Can I sleep in there tonight?”  

“Yes,” I said. “That was the idea!”  

He smiled again and gave me a hug,  

Then opened his presents, as bouncy as the balloons we’d laid out,  

resilient to the changes he’s witnessed and undergone.  

I hoped the worries and fears, the mental bug  

I’d been carrying around,  

would leave me at that point.  

That I would suddenly be able to relax and enjoy this day  

as a place where time and space converge,  

connecting me to him and myself across the years,  

a thread of moments on bunting   

like colourful signs leading us back  

to that precious moment of his birth.  

But no.  

Instead, I was low all day, disconnected, tired and sad.  

Most of the energy I had, I squandered on self-criticism  

about what a bad person I am, so needy, intolerant and miserable  

and how I compare so badly to the mythological version of me  

who is always patient, happy, sweet and grateful on my child’s birthday.  

She does not resent the passing of time.  

She does not fear being left behind.  

Some self-loathing spilled out on him,  

in moments of hard to contain agitation  

“Not that much cake”  

“Don’t touch the projector, it’s not ours to break.”  

Legitimate points sharpened with excess energy,  

built-up because I moved so little all day.  

(I told myself I didn’t have time;  

I was far too busy making it special for him)  

Truth is, I had lots of space,  

to write, stretch, meditate,  

or flush out stagnancy with fresh air.  

But for some reason, I chose to wallow,  

to dwell in that sadness that I’d swallowed.  

And though I wanted it to be about him, to make it magical,  

I chose to be pulled into the parts that feel hollow,  

The parts of me that still feel unseen.  

“What about me?”  

“Who loves me?”  

“Why am I invisible?”  

Downstairs today, there is boy, aged 10 years and one day.  

He is beautiful, big, and has a lot to say.  

He is making his new mechanical Lego set without a care.  

Soon we will start this new day with some fresh air.  

I will take his hand,  

to connect with him,  

and to help me understand  

that there is a little person in me too  

and that love is a feeling,   

but also, something to do.  

Home after the hospital 

Today I am wearing my son’s encouragement like headphones.  

“Wow mummy, you’ve really grown!”  

And “Aren’t you doing really well!  

Look at you go”  

He says with a straight face  

As I move at a snail’s pace.  

He saves his smiles for noticing the gluey place  

On my arm where a cannula was put  

“Is that where they gave you  

Well done for being brave stickers?”  

And he giggle at his own joke,  

The cheeky bugger.  

Appointment  

Today, I have an appointment with the consultant.  

I'm nervous about what he'll say  

whether he will stick with the charts  

I found on the internet that display  

my results equating a fairly low risk of cancer's return,  

meaning chemo isn't a good way to turn,  

or whether like God on his revolving office chair  

he'll decree “Better safe than sorry!”  

Of course, I have the ultimate choice   

of what to do with this beautiful body.  

Yet, coursing through my veins like a drip,   

is an approval-seeking missile set towards authority  

giving me a strong desire to impress  

this man, so anonymous and lofty  

in his mask and white coat dress.  

There is a surge of strange excitement too  

as I face the task of getting ready for the trip  

I really want to WOW it.  

Go in all dolled up, legs shaved, hair nice, best knickers on,  

(just in case I get a look over).  

Dreaming that their jaws will suddenly fall 

making their noses pop up over masks 

like Kilroy's did over that wall 

and they will say with gasps 

“Oh my what amazing healing you've done!  

What an incredible body you have!  

You’re simply astounding and we've never seen anything  

quite like this speed of transformation!”  

The medical team now a panel of my exes  

That I want to amaze, to show how well I'm doing without them.  

Perhaps this whole drama is best played out in my head instead  

for an increased likelihood of a mental lift.  

That way I won't have to sift through their actual human reactions,  

professionalism or alternative facts.  

Or maybe instead I could buy a doctor's outfit  

and make a game of it with my husband Pat?