Dust.
Talking over Sadie as she is trolleyed to CT.
Food left untouched.
Noise;
3am transfer.
Pain.
drip tissued.
Catheter.
Inadequate anaesthetic.
Waiting for nurse.
Fear of asking for nurse.
Fear of fear of asking for nurse.
Fear of nausea.
Nausea.
Incontinence.
Bed-bath, bed wash.
Commode. Grey pulp receptacle.
Indifference.
Embarrassment.
I can hear what they are saying about her, what about me?
They don’t understand.
Demented.
Old.
Aged. Sterile. Forgotten.
Divot.
Cracked, dirty doors, dusty windows.
Swollen, infected limb. No one is interested any more.
Not our patient.
Not my problem.
Why would anyone do that?
Cold.
Stiff;
Neck at an awkward angle.
Forgotten.
The shape of the pan has indented on my bottom.
Ulcer.
Itch.
Sharp, blunt, unfocused.
Unremembered.
Stink.
Pseudomembranes and toxic stimuli;
Reek of wound spoiled.
Home today.
Tomorrow.
Limbo.
Suspended.
Cardiac arrest.
Broken-bone chest compression.
90-year-old woman.
Skinny.
Skin and bone.
Cracked ribs.
Forced into dance macabre.
I must do this harm
As the harm
Is…
I tear your skin,
Squeeze.
Pinch.
Pale, pink.
Saturations too low.
Cyanosis.
Icy fingers
Hands
Feet.
Angry relatives echoing.
Challenging.
Uncertain.
But, what about?
A constant buzz,
Echoing forever.
Like
The touch
Of nine-volt battery on your tongue.
Acrid.
Sharp.
Present.
Everlasting.
When you are dead and gone,
We will remember.
Whilst you are here, we will forget.
I am a very senior, experienced, boss.
A guru of gurus.
If only they’d had me at Stalingrad.
If only.
I am the panacea,
The elixir
Remedy.
The words
That drop from my lips are
Magic.
Young,
Inexperienced,
Naïve
Alone
Silent
Steps.
Bambi.
Tired,
And sad
And forgotten.
The Mandala has a serpent at the centre – the everlasting pursuit of meaning; chasing its tail it spins round, infinitely, echoing the present. Fixed. The hungry demons express their frustration through red-rage, the onlookers cower, the ma and pa retreat to the shadows. Who can tell where, when or how?
Dr Rod’s Odd Blog (almondemotion) 
This hit me in the solar plexus yesterday morning { I was already on the ropes tho} – the power of words and imagination – such a strong brilliant exposition, it left me in pieces in the bathroom getting ready to meet friends. And when I returned, to curl under the duvet with a few more tears. An overwhelming scenario of then , now, will be , combined, but we have to face reality and change it. I couldn’t bear to think of it at first.
Plus of course it did bring back some personal memories .
By later on I felt more combative, to challenge FB members anyway to respond – which resulted in responses only from the people who already really care — you, your innumerable others, and Trev and Maxine . Thankyou. Apologies. Mea culpa.
We need to be awoken out of our complacency – living and dying as human beings depends on it.
{May we have a translation of ‘tzokrochen’ please – this one has evaded me so far!}.
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Sorry to have cause you upset; that wasn’t the intention.
All I am doing is inching through it all; imagine blindfolded seeker.
Tzokrochen – is from the Yiddish. It is a derivative word meaning ‘old’ or perhaps the associations one has with old-ness – stiff, stuffy, tired and worn. Perhaps not always representative, but then, what is old? it is and always has been a relative state. You are as old as you feel when you watch the sun rising or a squirrel running. That’s what I think anyway.
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Thankyou and agreed :-}}
You must continue the seeker.
This is a brilliant piece.
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