BIG DEAL

Where was I?

Ah, yes! The anaesthetist’s needle

and her reassurance that soon

I would feel sleepy.

I awoke after six hours

in an unfamiliar bed,

tethered with drips and drains,

monitors, catheters and relatives

anxious to assess if marbles

had been lost.

This was a big deal,

bigger than the scans suggested,

laparoscopes revealing the damaged landscape

of bowel – loops, entanglements and strictures –

in need of individual attention,

amputation, reconnection.

Nor was it over

when the anaesthetist went home,

with bloating, excruciating coughing,

confusing ideas from meds blending

nights and days, two-hourly observations

of temperature, blood pressure,

brief early morning rounds by the surgeons,

feeble washing.

What would it be

instead of waking

to have ‘slipped

the surly bonds of earth’?

If dying is like this, is it a big deal?

You just don’t wake up.