Being carted off in an ambulance was a new experience for me. It was also a new experience to be in a hospital ward, immobilised, attached to a drip. I must say that if one has to be in hospital, Constantiaberg is a good place to be. I was impressed by the kindness and care I received there.
This experience has made me think twice about making long-term plans. I used to take my rude health for granted. Now I know it can no longer be relied upon. Two trips are scheduled for later this year. : Steph and I are going to McGregor in August and in October I am going to Hogsback with Cynthia. I almost regret having made these arrangements. Perhaps when I am more fully recovered I will feel differently.
I am going to try again to post a poem relating to the experiences referred to above.
NIGHT IN THE HOSPITAL WARD
Bright lights shine in the corridor
outside my door. I hear footsteps.
People walk up and down.
In the next ward someone coughs
another moans incessantly.
A tap drips in a basin. I can’t get up
to turn it off
caught like an insect in a web of tubes
that dangle from the ceiling,
imprisoned by liquid dripping
into fragile veins.
The cougher stops, the moans cease too.
Perhaps they both have died.
I think of dying, joining loved ones,
husband, parents, dearest friends
Do they wait for me?
Dreaming of them, slide into sleep
and then a big, black, male nurse comes,
wakes me, adjusts the drip.
The coughs and moans start up again,
soft conversations in the passages.
Somebody rings a bell.
Time crawls, the night goes on.