“Writing this poem helped me find some light in the chaos…” Aagoon shares her poem Tumour Humour

“I had just moved to the UK at the time, far from home, and it felt like the ground had been pulled out from under me. But even in all that uncertainty, I wasn’t alone. My friends, my family, and Young Lives vs Cancer were there, holding me up in ways I’ll always be grateful for.

“Writing this poem helped me find some light in the chaos — to laugh a little, cry a little, and try to make sense of something that didn’t always make sense. Sharing it now feels a bit surreal, but also really special. Thanks for reading a part of my story.”

Tumour Humour

One morning, I’m rushing, ready to face
Another long day, another rat race.
Late to my calculus class at nine,
I pull back my hair and a lump I find.

I touch it and frown, unsure of its might,
Day after day, it stays there in sight.
Small and unbothered, it sits like a chum,
Mr. Lump, my companion, a new rule of thumb.

From hiking feats to baking sweet tarts,
To jamming to Swift, in all of these parts,
Mr. Lump stays with me, like an unwanted beau,
Finally, a mister who’ll never say no!

In the clinic, I wait, hands nervously shake,
Watching nurses glide by, for my turn to take.
With trays and soft smiles, their touch a balm,
Their laughter like music, my heart feeling calm.

“A biopsy,” they say, “to see what’s inside,”
I nod like a toddler, with no place to hide.
“Hold my hand if it hurts,” the nurse kindly insists,
Her hands are not precious, as she persists.

In the meadows, sipping chocolate so hot,
The phone rings with news I never sought.
“Lymphoma,” they say, my world starts to sway,
I Google “curable?” as hope slips away.

I wait for the tears, but they don’t come at all,
It’s not the diagnosis, but making that call.
To tell my family, their hearts breaking too,
The hardest thing ever, that I must do.

Calculating odds, my mind spins and swirls,
I’m a computer science student, lost in data worlds.
Am I going to make it? What are the stats?
In this foreign land, away from familiar chats.

The doctor asks if I want eggs on ice,
I laugh about fridges that have no slice.
Thinking of babies, with their sweet chubby cheeks, Life’s future embrace, despite its peaks.

In the ward, amidst games and mac ‘n’ cheese,
A needle in my vein, my strength starts to cease.
I grin at my dad, with a smile too wide.
My Cheshire Cat face, masking tears inside.

The pain isn’t chemo, but watching him break,
The strong, stern, man, now eyes full of ache.
I cry for the first time, and then I halt, “I can’t die yet, there’s a student loan to default.”

I touch my hair, my one true delight,
Once a glorious mane, now losing the fight. B
ut remission arrives, a victory bright,
Yet tired and worn, I embrace the light.

In Scotland so kind, where strangers care,
“Hello, my darling”, they say everywhere.
At twenty-one, I’m ready to thrive,
To dance, to love, to feel so alive.

Glass may shatter, but I am not frail,
I’ve weathered the storm, I’m setting sail.
With tumour humour, I boldly proclaim,
“You’re a warrior, my darling, life’s never the same.”

So here’s to the journey, with humor and grace,
Through the twists and turns, this beautiful race.
At the ceilidh, I’ll twirl, on feet that are quick, “You’re not glass, my darling. Lang may yer lum reek!”

– Aagoon 🙂