The Face of Lung Cancer — Eugene Polk
Thursday, November 15th, 2012Eugene Polk, Jr. (Rickey) , the oldest child of eight of Chris’s grandmother , Lottie Harden Polk, was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer in August 2001 and died 9 months later, missing the birth of his first grandchild by four months.
Rickey was a Vietnam War veteran who served as a registered nuclear medicine technician in Germany and stateside at Walter Reed Army Hospital. Upon his discharge from the Army, he continued his training, eventually serving as the Director of Nuclear Medicine at Menorah Medical Center in Overland Park, Kansas.
For Rickey By- Pat (Polk) Sims
As at birth
The same at death
You struggle for life giving breath.
I watch your chest rise—but it doesn’t fall
For what seems like minutes, and I want to call
A doctor a nurse anyone who can make you breathe
And then… the gentle sound of exhaled air…you’re still here,
Though no one knows for how long.
This journey started nine months ago and at that time
We weren’t aware that it was the dawn of a life change,
The birth of an unwelcome addition to the family
That would trigger a fight filled with minor successes
Sandwiched between major setbacks, and intrusive thoughts of
“This might be our last Christmas…
You’ll never see your grandchildren…
How will Mama survive your death?”
You tried to shelter us from the truth,
Never knowing that we knew what you were up against and
Wanted to love you and believe with you
That you would beat this adversary that didn’t fight fair,
That you would be the one to survive and that
Your treatment would set a precedent that could save lives.
We became well versed in platins and T-cell counts and
Potential chemical trials and reflexology.
When you were no longer able to walk
We learned how to safely transfer you to and from your bed–
And I remember apologizing when for the first time I, the little sister,
Helped you, the big brother use the restroom
And how we rejoiced when the session ended with a big success—
You hated to admit it but the prune juice worked and
We laughed so hard we cried as we ceremoniously flushed away the “eel”!
And now it’s come to this, watching your chest rise and fall
And not wanting to admit that a ventilator
Is doing the work that you can no longer do
And that now your kidneys are shutting down
And that you are still here only by the grace of God and the power of your will.
So, I kiss you and sing to you and tell you it’s okay to stop fighting and to leave us…
You struggle for life giving breath
As at birth
And so at death.