Memories of Writing Class

Wanting to write

Being blocked by unknown demons

Then unlocked by friendly angels:

Cora Lee’s quick-writes,

Bill’s poetry,

Ada’s Twelve Mile Tales,

Ellie’s memories of a child in war,

Carol’s sharing of her journey through abuse,

Lida’s family stories,

James’ coming of age saga,

Helen’s Catholic recovery,

Rose’s Mexican family memories,

And all those other angels

Embedded in my psych like seeds

Waiting to sprout in some new

Flower bed still to be watered.

2010 Writing Class

My Teacher—Cora Lee Brown

Pathology Report

“No Invasion!”

Sweeter words than these?

Not in this lifetime.

 

Those sounds!

Do they call them birds?

I did not know.

 

“Decaf please!”

Better taste than this?

I think not.

 

Tumor gone!

Do I get a hug?

Can’t touch this.

I Really Did Enjoy the Show

“Did you see that?”

“That was a fascinating shot—are you cutting that thing out?”

“No, I’m burning it out!”

I’m watching this whole process on the big flat screen HD TV as if it is a dance. This little round electronic tool is flitting around as I’m talking to my surgeon through the whole play. I wonder how he got that tool, along with the camera and attached floodlight up through the penis, urethra, and into the bladder. But he is a master of his craft: “Been doing these for 30 years,” as he says. And he is pleased, as am I, that I talked the anesthesiologist into the spinal block so I could participate in the whole show.

Now, the recovery process is not going as smooth as I had hoped: Last night’s midnight trip to the ER because my plumbing wasn’t working; re-introducing the catheter; now wearing a bag attached to my leg that I have to empty every couple hours; waiting for the lab results of the biopsy, which should be here by the end of the week; and finally, looking forward to quarterly “inspections” of the bladder in case there is a recurrence.

But on the whole, it was another freakin’ learning opportunity (AFLO) and I’m glad I was present for it. I’ll keep you posted on progress from time to time.

Above is one shot of the tumor that was removed and my victory dance as I was about to leave the hospital.  I was going to include a video of the whole operation but did not want to totally gross you out.  And Dr. Torrey wouldn’t let me have a copy.                   

MY TUMORIC FRIEND

I have a little tumor that appeared inside of me,

And how I came to have it is quite a mystery.

I try to live a healthy life, at least inside my head;

And I don’t smoke or other things that make me stay in bed.

 

The funniest thing about it is I wasn’t near aware

Until my doctor took one look and said, “A tumor’s there!”

“These things are oft malignant so we have to take it out

And send it to the lab so we can see what it’s about.”

 

I told my wife and friends about my new internal friend;

And they became concerned and asked me questions without end.

Of course I couldn’t answer them because I hadn’t thought to query,

As men are often wont to do, at least they do so rarely.

 

But I have confidence and faith in my internal strength;

My doctor’s good and so is life, no matter how the length.

I figure this is just another chance to beat the proverbial odds;

So I’ll let my doctor do his job and leave the rest to God.

Milan Hamilton

April 29, 2010

National Poetry Month - 8

Adventures of Obama – 2

Obama faced a room full of Titans

Of Wall Street that is, but he wasn’t frightened;

The Bears were growling, the Bulls’ nostrils flared;

The lobbyists bellowed, but he wasn’t scared.

They crawled around threatening, they brayed and they stomped:

“Obama, be careful, you’ll surely get whomped!”

Barack Obama, he didn’t worry.

He wouldn’t bow to their frantic fury.

He stood straight and tall, looked them right in the eyes

And said “Since you’re out of control I’m gonna regulate you guys!”

National Poetry Month – 7

Adventures of Obama

Obama took an enormous job,

He faced a fickle, unruly mob;

Whose tongue did hiss and venom did spew;

Whose color oft changed, now red, now blue.

The mob said, “Obama, we’re glad you came.

We got you elected, now just play our game.

Barak Obama, he didn’t worry.

He wouldn’t bow to their frantic fury.

He meant what he said and he said what he meant.

He went on being The President.

Milan Hamilton

April 9, 2010

National Poetry Month - 6

He Was Born

“He was born the night the Titanic went down.”

Intrigued, I googled, thinking,

As the kid coming up for the 3^rd time said:

“There’s got to be a pony in here somewhere!

What happened on January 25^th, 1937?

Google said:

Guiding Light airs on the radio—for the first time ever;

Atlantic & Gulf Coast Maritime strike ends—unsuccessfully;

Germany agrees with Britain—all volunteers should leave Spain;

Mrs. Roosevelt takes her guests out—sightseeing;

Don Maynard, NFL receiver and Kathleen Tynan Halton, writer—are born;

Apparently no one dies!

What happened on January 25^th, 1937?

I’m here!

Milan Hamilton

April 8, 2010