A bastardized version to Robbie Burn’s “Address to a Haggis”, written on 25th January 2011 to celebrate the end of chemoradiation. Best read with a Scottish accent.
Great Chiefton o’ the fishy-race,
Aboon them a’ye tak your plaice,
Chop, fry and poison,
Ye are not worthy of my grace,
As strong as this ‘un.The groaning tuna that we kill,
The hurdles like a distant hill,
The chemo assists to make it nil,
And radio indeed,
Whilst in my veins the drugs do fill,
To make tuna d’ed.Surgeon’s knife and suction might,
Then cut me up wi’ gentle slight,
Trenching my gushing entrails bright,
Tuna on table,
And then, o what a glorious sight,
Twenty seven staple.
Then, day by day, to stretch an’ strive,
And tak the choice to stay alive,
‘Til would healing let me survive,
And go now real bold.
The head shaven, most bald contrive,
Aye feckit, it’s cold.
What there is that o’er ma he’d so tight?
All clamped and clipped, mustn’t move or fright,
All radiation wad brain ignite,
Wi’ perfect frying,
Cooks well wi’ chemo, just the two,
Six weeks a trying.
Poor tuna! See it turned to ash,
As “on holiday” I will dash,
My four weeks, I’ll have a good bash,
And do just a bit,
Through body, food and on the lash,
Oh how unfit!
But then ‘tis frigging tuna’s need,
Back for more chemo, six months indeed,
Will keep head skinny, and spirit freed,
We’re making progress,
Ev’rything to kill the cancer seed,
And promote success.
Wi’ mangy dog and feisty bird,
The tuna’s days will be numbered,
Mind and brain ne’r encumbered,
Spirit still stronger,
But if ye wish her grateful prayer,
Smite the feckin’ tuna!
Vicky Galbraith January 2012