Rabbit Holes
Late on Thursday
Inspired by dinner document,
I take a punt—
defrosted my freezer
to remove ice,
make a little space.
found some wild things.
text a pal.
surprised my folks
with an extra bag of goods
(for the trip to Livingston).
Life is for—
(hospitals are weird)
no privacy.
(the last time, scarier—
a stroke ward.)
It’s annoying,
hearing everything.
you try not to—
and for this reason,
I do
try not to make
eye contact
but it happens.
things soften.
we both start laughing
at something—
a little comedy
in the ward.
Later,
another woman—
mostly hidden in drape—
answers a nurse’s
question
to another,
about me:
“Where’s the nurse to take Steph to theatre?”
“She’s gone to get an inhaler.”
we, the patients, all laugh,
we’re grateful
for this weird
camaraderie—
as I dash
to the toilet
for the last time
before my
Alton Towers
hospital trolley trip.
hospitals are weird
and kind of funny, too—
a standoff:
female nurses
vs.
the male gynaecologist
who wrote
left ovary
on my consent form.
(possibly misleading—
because ovaries
like to hide.)
sometimes,
the left
isn’t left
after all.
(It was, and now it isn’t.)
*
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