unprepared

by thankfeldenkrais

Eighty-seven days free of hospital,
Finding his calm amid the storm, that rocked him violently
We are here again.
Unprepared.
Our gloves still down as round two bell resounded.

Back to where his life was saved,
Had me rattled with both gratitude and dread,
Sadness and joy,
Thankful for only outpatients,
Yet the all too familiar smells had my senses on high alert,
Finding it hard to remain focused, and
Not get washed up in the tide of grief so fresh and raw as we walk the same halls.

Seeking medical expertise,
In the hope of finding answers to all that has been suffered.
Magnetic Resonance Imaging once more would capture the faults in his mind,
The death of its matter.
Or as we banter idealistically of its potential miracle to have healed.
And a lumbar puncher to extract the fluid to tell a thousand words.
Surely a fairy-tale, not a tragedy.
Then life could move forward,
Recovery could begin?

It was clear to the naked eye,
He too remembered all too clearly.
Flinching as anesthetists closed in,
Stiffening to a primitive wail as they placed their hands to him,
Flooded with tears, I’m on the outskirts of mothering again,
Unbearably,
Watch as sedation takes him away from me,
Again.

Unprepared for the fear that bolted through me as his lights went out,
Panic stricken,
What if he doesn’t wake up?

And then he’s gone,
Trundled away in a scene all to heartbreakingly familiar,
Leaving time slowing to all but a stop,
And wait for him.
Again.

I hear him before I see him,
A lost baby beast calls in the wilderness,
Separated from its clan,
In fear of its life.
I try to run to him,
He’s calling for me, and I’m right here,
but I’m held back by systematic protocol.
It’s not time yet I hear ring through my ears.
I’m irrational, by his close proximity, and yet my distance to comfort him.

I’m promised,
Soon.

By the time the double security doors allow entry,
A tiny grey washed-out face rests in a sea of white,
Cords stuck to him once more,
And I weep.
For again he’s eyes are closed in disconnection,
His spark not visible,
A shadow of whom I’ve come to know.
And love more than this world.

He stirs with time,
Crying for feed,
And I’m comforted as much as him,
As he drowsily drinks his fill.

Wound on his back,
Fog clouding his dark eyes,
Trauma thick in the air,
Tentatively we take him for the night,
To wait results by morning.
Isaac Ali_sweet dreams Already I know,
Tonight I will not sleep a wink.

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