Maybe my last poem (Poem)

Maybe my last poem Sadly my friends, I cannot now talk Nor can I truly hardly even simply walk In thought yes I can still ever speak Although my body is terribly weak I am seemingly just a simple shell In this disease that’s direct from hell Indeed it’s well named the Devils Disease It has took my every little bit of ease It is making me indeed way too ill Taking my every little last bit of will I try to type this yet it maybe my last The disease drags me down ever more fast I asked them for a peg feed months back The online world says not to delay or lack Sooner is better than later as it seems They said it was too soon as it sadly deems But now I am so weak unable to talk Finding it difficult to stand or easily walk If they heard me ask for that operation With nutrients flowing far less devastation My mouth and throat is mega dry in bed As soon as I try to lie and rest my head My spit is very hard too like a material I go to the toilet extreme times it’s unreal I’ve a hernia and a small cancer growth My lungs are gone too, but the thing I loathe Is the accursed motor neurone disease Gradually takes your life as every bit of ease It does not affect eyes ears or your brain It wants you to see and hear adding to pain I broke my foot last October via an indoor fall It seem the MND brought healing to simply stall As also for the cancer growth as the hernia too There is nothing in the world any doctor can do I pray to God in thought nearly each second While people assume I’ve gave in as reckoned I have a peg feed op lined up now next week But living on liquids I’m maybe now to weak The doctor says he’s dealt with worse than me On this peg feed there’s a lot rides as we’ll see If I disappear a week long, then pray all goes well More so that I can still type and this poem title dispel Pray that my throat will not even get a little sore And pray the doctors each do well ever more Hence my strength could be built up this is the hope The last chance in my life my one and only life rope If I don’t make it my friends please do not cry Just pray that God grants me angel wings to fly And he has took me from the pain that lay ahead Away from all the fear the worry and pending dread I pray that after life up in heaven I maybe will rest It is up to God alone, we’ll see if I pass the peg feed test Poet Christopher Robin Copyright Registration TXu 1-598-108 The peg feed op went ahead no problem took all of just five minutes, no sore throat, although a week later and it’s still weeping as still also very sore too, Currently I take only my meds and energy boosts down it, but with just my left hand it is impossible for me to do alone The ALS stepped up yet another notch to while I was in the hospital too preventing me from raising my left hand that high, as also preventing me from pushing myself up to sit up off the mattress this morning But there were other problems created by junior doctors and nurses alike despite my demanding to see the registrar to make full complaint as far as I am aware this request was never even passed on once The next day I could not go to the toilet at all so I was gave a catheter as a temporary measure, they say this often happens after an operation, they have tried to remove it once already but to no avail as I still had not been 10 hours later so another was fitted, and it is a week solid since I went for an actual pooh. I am very tired eating soups custard smoothies, while awaiting some pureed meals to be delivered, to be taken orally which are much the same as hospitals supply My mouth is major dry, more so in bed, but I do take the biotene gel and spray I cannot sit in one position for very long a time, otherwise find it difficult to swallow my own spit. I am also very unstable on my feet and finding it hard to push myself out of bed in a morning. Hopefully this will change somewhat when the pureed meals arrive. I am very thin and have lost a lot of weight, my other half is back at work tomorrow, and thanks to the ignorance of a social worker I’ll have carers in for just three hours out of a ten hour day and will have to open the door for each one I do not care what any person says about my complaints; I am dying terminally ill and not sitting there to be abused by doctors and nurses alike. I dread to think of the ill treatment I will receive when I cannot talk walk or move or indeed speak up for myself at all, and so many folk wonder why I wish and often pray I was dead sooner It is about time that terminally ill dying folk were heard and treat with the due respect they are due and not pushed aside and used as a scapegoat for erring staff doctors and nurses as also local Doctors alike