Daily Prompt 161
Alphabetical
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The (Hysterical) ABC of Hysterectomy
By Rosemary Garreffa
A is for Anaesthetic, my dearest friend.
Seduce me, take me to your bed and have your way with me!
Yet I pray, wake me gently when this is at an end.
B is for bed, yes, the one in your room,
The surgeon will ban it, get up and get active.
The frenemies (see N) will urge you to lie on it, be restive.
You’re damned if you do, (a lung full of gunk),
And damned if you don’t (Rest my lovely, your eyes look so sunk.)
Look at it lovingly, - it cost you a penny,
Say you sat on it once – and wink at a frenemy.
C is for cough. It’s on the list! You must do this twice hourly – the surgeons insist!
It’s nigh on impossible with your lungs fit to bust,
But you’ll do it because… they told you, you must!
You’ll moan a lot, its really a pain,
And they’ll remind you again, and again and again.
D (is for drugs, we’re getting to that.)
D is for Doctor, who avoids you, for one.
You’ve wondered, was it true, I needed it done?
I’d have said on day two, my purse had a zip!
Now I can see my gut has a lip!
And I ponder the reason, was it really so bad?
But deep down I’m sure,
It’s my smile makes her glad.
E is for Endone, Ah, morphine, my dear!
It gives you rest, but this beast you should fear.
It blocks your pain, but also your drain,
And your frenemies will hunt you with absolute glee,
With benign little missiles whose purpose is – well you’ll see.
F is for food. Yes, I did say food.
I did not say you’d enjoy it, no matter your mood.
Too bland, too spicy – it sticks in your throat.
And brings on the COUGH!
That other b@#%@ of a goat!
You’ll manage to scoff it, you will, you will!
Otherwise, the plumbing will need that OTHER pill!
G is for Gas, the natural stuff – get my drift?
Have you done it yet? They question each shift.
But you dare not indulge, lest you pass more than wind,
And hold and hold it till in pain you do bend.
And you know it’s a given, you’ll let it all go,
But can you clear the room first? It just isn’t so.
H is for hospital, with its sterile ward.
The smell, the sounds, the nightmarish discord.
The scuttling staff, in scrubs and rubbered,
The trolley you lie on, all labelled and numbered.
H is for help! As you struggle with fate.
Too late, my girl, its bloody too late!
I is for I.V. as it clings to your hand,
Proof of what your body has had to withstand.
Proof of the party you must have attended,
Where you were the venue, your guts all extended.
Filled with fentanyl till you wake from that dream,
Then saline, and Endone, to filter the scream.
J is for jargon, not meant for you.
The handover meeting from shift one to shift two.
This patient is blah, and how do we do.
Serial No: 036222,
Dr Z, and post-op review.
Don’t be alarmed, you can give me a call.
I’m just down the end of this very long hall.
K is for kitchen. They have one you know.
You’ll get their menu as neat as a pin.
Your choices restricted to soup from a tin.
If it’s cauliflower and cheese,
Or rice pudding to please,
They’ll make it with love and bring it your way.
It might be cold or insipidly grey.
But heck, you got it! What more can I say?
L is for love. It’s to be put to the test.
They love you right, your family’s the best.
How much will be clear, six weeks from now.
As your demands must be met. Mum! Holy Cow!
Must I do EVERYTHING? From daylight to dark?
I love you Mum, but you’ve become quite a nark!
M is for machine. Which one do you mean?
The one for my pulse, or bladder results?
“Zero” you say? You can’t find a reading?
Good God! Call someone, I’m sure I’m not bleeding!
My bladder has no score?
I can’t give you more.
Concern on her face, the frenemy flees.
Laughs with relief – new battery please.
N is for Nurse – now known as your frenemy.
Pushing, poking, laughing, joking.
Get up, go to bed, shower now, drugs at two.
Lights out, wake up, obs time, “You done a poo?”
O is for ouch and that’s not overstated.
Ovaries – so overrated!
Over it, Out with it!
Oh, Oh dear, Oh No! Oh sh#t!
P is for pills, of various kinds.
The uppers the downers, you’ll want one of each.
Locked in a cupboard, out of your frenemy’s reach.
They keep an eye on the clock, no matter your screech.
At 11:00 pm you’ll beg for a bullet.
To pass Endone’s rockets – to sort out your gullet.
But careful here, as they put you to bed,
And tell you to hold it – hold it- hold it – “I’m dead!”
Q is for quiet. Bahaha! I’m joking!
The frenemies don’t like it, they do lots of poking.
If its not a buzzer going off on your drip,
It’s the cleaner who’s vacuum has your room on her clip.
And forget the quiet in the dead of night,
That’s when the aircon buzzes a fright.
Oh, you will get some quiet – as you sit on the loo.
But that’s when your Physio comes looking for you.
R is for reasonable. Reasonable doubt, reasonable force.
Someone draw a line – with blood – not bloody sauce!
If I ask you again, can you please let me sleep,
I’ll scream bloody murder if you don’t Beep Beep Beep!
Now I’m normally quite reasonable, but this has gone way too far.
I want to go home! Please bring the car.
S is for sneeze, cough’s wiley friend.
If you feel a sneeze coming, best try to bend.
It’s also for Sanity – of which you’ll end up with none,
If sneeze becomes cough and you’re not on Endone.
T is for timing or lack thereof. Dinner arrives hot – and that’s a real fluke,
Just as you’re showering or having a puke.
You’ve made it this far, survived to day three.
Then comes the Physio and spoils your party.
Breathe deep, my dear, five times like this,
Then cough. No! Are you taking the piss?
I’m serious dear, you want to get better,
Follow instructions – exact – to the letter.
U is for Uterus, The star of this show.
It’s carried your babies, bled for you, shed for you,
But now it must go.
Don’t grieve for it dear, it’s done its job.
You tell yourself that as you hold back a sob.
Are you woman still? Or hollow self?
Put out to pasture, back on the shelf.
If you listen to some, that may seem to be true,
But for others, they beam and say, “Meet the new you!”
Uterus, the size of a fist,
You’ve packed a punch – you DID exist!
A sign of strength for maternity,
You’ll not be forgotten in eternity.
V is for void (Your bowels pointedly)
It lurks on the chart of your frenemy.
They give you some grace but rest in the fact,
You ain’t leaving here with THAT still compact.
So, wince as you may, that stitch in your side,
Will stretch and complain as you desperately hide.
In the end they will bring the big guns on you,
And you’ll beg for it – anything! Just let me poo!
W is for waiting. A job not a chore.
Sic weeks at least – to heal and restore.
Take the moments with outstretched palms.
Cherish them, savour them, no need for alarm.
The world will turn without you, while you stop and watch it spin.
You’ll be foolish not to bend to it, the chance to take it in.
And in the end be stronger,
On the outside and within.
X marks the spot,
Inconspicuous dot.
Sign here and here,
PIN please – XXXX,
Yes, that is how much dear.
Y is for YOU! And your need to be well,
And you may even feel, as guilty as hell
Yet though it may seem,
You are served like a queen,
Just accept it for now,
And let them Kow-tow.
Six weeks seems a lot but compared to the past,
Six weeks is a dot – and it will be gone too fast.
You’ve been the centre without knowing,
Of your family’s world as they were growing.
This is their chance to repay you,
So, no GUILT allowed. Go on, I dare you!
Z is for … well…
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ!