Friday 14 December 2007

Hospital.

The Visit to bed 22.

The corridor echoes to the clack of her heels.
Nobody could know of the hurt that she feels.
Is it this way or that way or is it straight on?
She must find her mother before she is gone.


That her mother would BE there heaped hope upon hope,
she'd asked of the nurses if Mother could cope.
They'd assured her the worst that could happen to Mum
was that bed sores could often mean pain in the bum.


The name of the ward was displayed with an arrow
pointing the way down the corridor narrow.
In no time at all she was there at the doors
but before she walked through, she decided to pause.


What if? she thought, in a moment of panic.
What if I'm too late and she's already dead?
What if she won't know me because she's so sick?
What if when I get there they've emptied the bed?


Ablution was called for before she could enter,
her hands would be rinsed with some surgical spirit.
A mixture of soap and carbolic would cleanse her,
before she proceeded, her Mother to visit.


It was while in the process of washing and drying
that the bells started ringing and sounds as of crying.
She froze on the spot as nurses came dashing.
Onto the ward where the red lights were a flashing.


"Stand clear!" came the shout behind hastily pulled screens,
Woomph! boomed the defibrillator as they fired off a shot.
"Stand clear!" went the shout again from the green curtains,
Woomph! went the shocker....... but help it was not.


There was quiet all around as the doctors withdrew,
their job was all over at bed twenty-two.
The body is covered as she looked up to see... Mum!
Waving from bed numbered twenty and one.

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I am over 79. Up to a couple of years ago I'd have described myself as fit and decisive. Now I'm not so sure. I am into DIY. If my wife asks me to do something I say; "Do It Yourself".....Click on my Older Posts for more reading. Or try: http://www.chrisbeach.co.uk/viewQuotes.php