Words are inadequate to describe
my constant anxiety –
after years in and out of hospital –
fearing to feel that ouch
that means it’s happening again.
My stomach lurches
as pain pesters my throat,
surges down to settle in my armpit
when blood clogs the pump.
It needs no tests to tell me
that I’m on my way
to the Centre Hospitalier France/Etats Unis
or worse, the CHU at Caen
for days of tubes and monitors,
undignified gowns, and tasteless meals
sans sel of fluff and jelly,
with noisy nights of worry.
Today’s words from Brenda’s Sunday Whirl were too close to home. I used them all but I had to translate that strange word Jello into English!