About a year ago I bought myself a little black notebook
Some time in June last year, after it came to light that I was crook
Neglected now for months I get it out once more and take a look.
It ain’t the kind of black book that has contents likely to defame
This ain’t no list of lovers, contact details listed next to name
The hook-ups that are outlined all involve an IV and a vein.
I met up with this notebook after meeting up with the Big C
It lived inside my bag after some nasties were found inside me
At each and every nerve-wracking appointment it was on my knee.
The notebook’s filled with questions and some roughly drawn survival charts
Accounts and contact numbers and my surgery admission cards
And details of the medical equipment firm who’d make my bra.
I’ve got those little-black-book, life-and-death-in-biro blues
The can’t-believe-that’s-my-list-of-medication blues
Used to run your life - now it seems that cancer’s running you.
The notebook's crammed to bursting with suggestions from folk being nice
When cancer comes to visit everybody’s got some good advice
Sometimes it’s really useful, but there’s some I’m scared to look at twice.
I scribbled down the chances of a spread to liver, lungs or brain
A visit from a team of Mets who don't have baseball as their game
I double-check it often but the numbers always stay the same.
Six months since chemo ended and it’s time to see my docs once more
How fast has come the day when I must knock upon that clinic door
It seems the time's arrived to take the book out of my bedside drawer.
I’ve got those little-black-book, chattin’-about-cancer blues
The love-my-doctors-but-scared-as-hell-to-see-'em blues
The..yes, I look just fine, but I looked fine this time last year
..could be jotting down that I’m OK or I’m cactus
..only thing that helps is humour of the same colour...blues.