A piece of prose/poetry about facing mortality |
Her body...ravaged, fevered, exhausted She lies in the stillness of her hospital bed Her tiny arm sprouting plastic tubing. She has the knowledge But no longer enjoys the energy or capacity To advocate for herself. She fights on Determined not to let this endless repetition of unknown illness overtake her. The hours and days roll by Myriad drugs course through her veins A seemingly futile attempt to attack That which is proving defensible. She feels the frustration of her doctors Both unsure of the next path More blood extracted from her More attempts to grow the tiny beast that has hold of her. She despairs in her bed In her quiet stark hospital room. By day she stands by the windows She watches the fortunate well of the world go about their business Do they spare a thought for those That dwell within the hospital walls? By night she lies alone listening to the sounds outside her door The trolleys The quiet night talk She is alone with her thoughts Thoughts of her children Her self Her survival She sleeps briefly only to be disturbed by another round of toxins Designed to heal, futile in the extreme. A final test Another scan A hope that technology will provide answer It comes Finally, inevitably. Her doctor is sober in mood as he enters the room His relief is counterpoint to his troubled demeanor He sits beside her A brief silence hovers in the air Before the worrying news is handed to her Carefully, quietly Her knows she understands The implications a lead weight between them. He knows she trusts him from his long years of care He places his hands on her shoulders Turns her gently to face him Holding her eyes with his own He does not turn away from her glassy tears He tells her Directly Honestly Major surgery Beyond my capability Life threatening Mortality rate She hears the words, the statistics There is no longer a choice She has the surgery she has a chance No surgery, no chance She cries quietly He stays with her Till she has settled inside herself Before he leaves Arrangements to be made. After a time When the evening has come Her husband visits He senses not her anguish He sees not her fears he cannot understand her terror He is flippant in his disregard She retreats inside herself. She faces her fears and her mortality Alone, lonely, terrified. By the glow of her hospital night light She harnesses her fear into action She puts pen to paper And writes her love and her dreams for her four children Onto the lines of the paper Weeping silently as she works She does not write to he who left her alone with this. The sun rises as does she Her fear and terror reigned in now A calm acceptance of this new thing life has brought to her A realization that she has at least lived a purposeful existence With compassion for others With love and care for her family And all those that have dwelt for a time within her world. So be it! |