The following poem is from a collection of 41 written by me to try describing Huntington’s Disease (HD).
Iin this poem I have tried to bring out how lonely the sufferers must be when their families and friends block them out from social interaction. It’s true that communication is difficult but it must be so lonely shut within your shell watching others live as though nothng has changed.
The Sunday lunch setting then reminded me how torturous it must be to have your senses stimulated by food and yet, because of swallowing difficulties, all you will be fed is a tasteless milk protein drink!
The Hunger
Sitting in the lounge alone,
The radio playing low.
The family pop in now and then,
To say a quick hello.
In kitchen they are chatting,
The usual family bunch.
Tradition held for years and years,
Down mum and dads’ for lunch.
The dad has taken on mum’s role,
Not easy task he boasts.
A dab hand now with gravy,
And even matched her roasts!
They wheel her into dining room,
The part she’s come to dread.
No plate piled high to share the food,
Milk protein drink instead.
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