Total Hip Replacement
Procedures.
They talk in tongues in iron lungs,
As I’m wheeled through tight corridors,
Only the ceiling, seems somewhat appealing,
Crash bang as we burst through more doors.
Left in the lurch and lonely,
Staring in mortal fear,
Redemption is inadmissible,
Nothing in my mind is clear.
People crowd around making hardly a sound,
Then some questions before the pain,
Of the insertion of the cannula,
My cries are all in vain.
It’s then the start of the symphony,
Everything slows to a crawl,
Technicians in white like ghosts in the night,
Arrange my body, in for the long haul.
Nothing is heard a whisper or word,
Till I awake in another ward,
They call the ward recovery,
And I know I’ve been put to the sword.
Then there’s more procedure,
The rating of pain, one to ten,
Whatever the number, there’s no peaceful slumber,
Then I’m wheeled away by the orderly men.
Placed in a ward with one other,
Instructions then left alone,
The situation is surrealistic,
I wish I could talk to someone on the phone.
The rest is the test of history,
A procedure of getting back home,
Then the long months of recovery,
Most of it is done alone.
©
David Rudder
2011
Thanks for reading.
