I wake in the night—yes, the middle of night,
When the moon’s still on duty and stars are on site.
My alarm clock goes BEEP! far too early to cheer,
“Radiation time!” says the clock with a sneer.
I shuffle and wobble and mumble and yawn,
While sensible people are still fully gone.
The sun’s not awake, the birds haven’t checked in,
But off I must go for my zap-zap-zap spin.
Now first comes the pressure—oh yes, there is that:
“You must poop,” says the rulebook. Imagine that chat.
I’m barely awake, my eyes glued with sleep,
Yet my colon’s expected to perform on a beep.
Then fill up the bladder—oh fill it just right!
Not too much, not too little, just hold it real tight.
I’m a human balloon, I’m a walking water tower,
I’m a dam with emotions and sixty-four ounces of power.
I lie on the table, quite still as can be,
While machines hum around me like bees near a tree.
They buzz and they whirr and they circle and gleam—
And wouldn’t you know it? I’m starting to gleam.
I glow! Yes I glow! Like a radioactive gnome!
Like a night-light-ish hero who forgot to go home.
You might say, “Good heavens!” or “Is that a new trick?”
Nope—just science and courage and zap-zap-zap—click.
Now hormones, dear hormones, have joined in the fun,
They’ve shuffled the script and rewritten the run.
So my pronouns, you see, have expanded their realm:
Today I’m a they, and I’m owning the helm.
They who are brave.
They who persist.
They who show up even half-conscious and pissed.
(At the alarm, not the people—just clearing that up,
I’m grumpy but grateful and sipping my cup.)
And here’s the best part, the truest by far,
The reason I shine brighter than radiation ever are:
I’m wrapped up in love—oh a spectacular heap!
From family and friends who refuse to retreat.
My community cheers me, they text and they call,
They show up with meals and with jokes and with gall.
They hold me in laughter, in kindness, in care—
So much love that even my bladder says, “Fair.”
So zap me and scan me and wake me too soon,
I’ll glow like a lighthouse, a very full moon.
With poop planned ahead and a bladder on swell,
I’m held by my people—and honestly? That’s what heals.
