Day +7: Bad Poem Alert.

I’ve jist hud day plus seven,

In Stem Cell Transplant land,

And even though I should feel shite

I’m feeling rather grand.

My Platelets counts are tiny,

My Neutrophils are nil.

I wake up every morning,

And swallow lots of pills.

The Doc’s all seem quite happy

With how it’s gaun to date.

I’m giving them an easy ride

Which - I guess - is great.

Apart from stingy brown poo

And food that tastes the same.

All things now considered

Ah really can’t complain.

So aye, this damn myeloma

That though itself the boss

It picked the wrang Glaswegian

Wi whom tae chance the toss.