In the veins, a potion flows, A remedy for life's dire throes. Chemotherapy, its name proclaimed, In cells of cancer, its wrath untamed.
A battle waged within the veins, Where hope and fear, like clouds, wane. For cancer cells, it's meant to slay, Yet, in its wake, healthy ones may sway.
Rapid division, cancer's claim to fame, Chemotherapy targets, without shame. But in its fervor, it may stray, Affecting others in its way.
Hair falls like autumn leaves in the breeze, Nausea churns like stormy seas. Fatigue grips like chains unseen, Infections lurk, a shadow keen.
Yet hope persists, a steadfast guide, Through valleys low and mountains wide. Chemotherapy, a warrior's might, In the quest for health, it fights the night.
Before surgery or radiation's glow, It shrinks the tumors, a silent foe. After, it hunts the remnants still, Ensuring cancer's hold, it will fulfill.
Intravenous drips, a silent drum, Oral pills, a daily sum. In muscles or beneath the skin, The battle rages, from within.
The regimen, a careful dance, Tailored to each unique circumstance. Type and stage, health's delicate thread, In the hands of those who tread.
Chemotherapy, a double-edged sword, In its might, hope is stored. For in its wake, amidst the strife, Lies the promise of a renewed life.
