When Death Called My Name

 Neil Creighton

 
Neil with his grandson, Max. 

By Neil Creighton

The year of my retirement after 34 years of teaching was an interesting one. I’d experienced some internal bleeding but was assured by a specialist that there was nothing to worry about. What he had missed was a tumour that was growing not as a polyp but as a string which was slowly closing my colon. 

However, I retired and as an avid cyclist, on Dec 1 I began to cycle The Tassie Trail with Tim, my youngest son. Tasmania is our island state and 1500 km south of where I live. The Trail is 480 km in length, for mountain bikes and over bush tracks, fire trails and big mountains. It was a fantastic experience and my wife, Diana, joined me after I had completed it for a couple of weeks holidaying together. 

Unfortunately, my tumour had other ideas and on December 20 decided to completely close off my colon. After a night of unbelievable pain she rushed me to hospital where an excellent surgeon performed emergency surgery. 

For about a week I was desperately ill. These four poems record the experience, especially the moments when a world beyond pain begins to emerge. One poem, “Recovery”, details a magical day when I was allowed to go from the hospital for a couple of hours. The Sydney to Hobart yachts were coming up the Derwent River and it was an experience way beyond beautiful. Other poems are more deeply into those moments where survival is a struggle and death seemed to be calling my name. 


Recovery involved three more operations and nine months chemotherapy. Survive I did, got back on my bike, toured around Australia and overseas. But my perspective had changed. My life seemed like a resurrection and each moment and every experience was new and beyond wonderful. My mind was saturated with the beauty and wonder of this planet, life, love, friendship. 

These things have been in my face ever since. 

I had no grandchildren when I fell ill. Now I am privileged to know all six. 



Awakening.
 
Beyond morphine detachment,
out of the bed’s encircled darkness,
when pain recedes just enough
to let the mind tiptoe 
a cautious step or two,
 
through a small window
in the antiseptic room 
comes a gift the darkness brings,
a rush of revelation,
just glint of light playing on green leaves 
swaying to the wind’s caress,
sun-dappled tangle of branches,
cloud-flecked blue sky,
 
but each simple, commonplace moment 
transformed, miraculously new,
never truly seen before,
now shouting glory to ears
that had been deaf,
beauty to eyes 
that had been blind.

 
 I Remember.
 
I remember 
mumbled words,
tumour, cancer, lymph nodes, chemotherapy, sorry, 
light touch of hand on my shoulder, 
look of sympathy before the door closed. 
 
I remember 
her tender words, 
We’ll get through this together, Neil, 
her soft kiss, her gentle touch, 
her look of love before she left.
 
I remember 
the endless night’s utter despair, 
the fierce heat of death’s breath, 
the sleepless desolation, the repeating questions, 
Is this the end? Here? Now? Like this?
 
I remember 
leaving that pain-wracked body, 
wounded from chest bone to pubic bone, 
looking at it with curious objectivity, thinking 
That body on the bed, is it me?
 
I remember 
travelling somewhere, I don’t know where, 
somewhere utterly dark, a lightless void, 
and I remember the voice. 
I am the God of the living, not the dead.
 
I remember 
how suddenly I returned to my body, 
how I lay quietly in the dark night, 
how I thought Peace. It has covered me, 
lifted me up and floated me away.
 
I remember 
how deeply I slept, 
how I woke up to repetition of loved lines. 
Was it a vision or a waking dream? 
Was it? Did I wake or sleep?
 
Visitation

Before dawn I felt a touch.
A cold voice whispered Come.
A pause. Then that voice again.
Your race you have now run.

I shook my head, withdrew my hand,
weakly whispered “No.
How can I leave this woman
sitting quietly by the window?

Mr. Death I cannot come!
Look on this vignette--
See how morning’s growing light 
softly frames her silhouette.

She and I have things to do,
loving not yet completed.
I make this determined vow. 
I will not now be defeated.

When you some other time return
I may merely follow, 
say goodbye to this
quintessence of joy and sorrow

but now her soft touch makes 
your cold grip fall away.
Now I turn again towards light.
Now I again embrace the day.”
 
 
Recovery

I have been in dark places,
heard Death call my name,
whisper words of promise
to end breath and ease pain.
 
I have been in clear places,
seen the revelation of light
in the swaying of leaves  
so glitteringly bright.
 
I have been in deep places,
watched in still, joyous trance
bay’s water and light play
in sparkling, bright dance.
 
I have been in loved places,
gained strength to withstand,
felt promise and gained hope   
from the soft touch of hand.