The Second Hospital
The first hospital was inadequate
Was ill-equipped
Was too specialized
And so we had to move
To the big mega-hospitalopolis
Designed to care for any
And every problem
With equal disdain
For each and every person
Who walked through its doors
The new hospital was not designed for family
Or for visitors
Or for anything besides
Treating the body
The spirit is an issue
Of little or no concern
Outside of the chapel
We were not put off that easily though
It is amazing what you can get
If you just never stop pushing
And so we persevered
In hard plastic chairs
Continuing our shifts
Onward and onward
We wore gloves and gowns
And sat behind sliding glass doors
We fought security
And a general feeling
That we were just in the way
I was always making up for lost time
Time spent in Phoenix
In hotel rooms
In cubicles
Removed from the action
My sisters
On town
Took the nights
And my father took the days
And I added what I could
My mother would improve
Then fall back
At first we hoped to have her home by Christmas
But the days just kept passing
They were supposed to get her off the respirator
They were supposed to get her physical therapy
They were supposed to offer the care
She couldn’t get before
But all of that was as illusory as it gets
At best they were able
To fight of the MRSA
And keep up her dialysis
But as December moved into January
The only thing helping her
Was time
Her body started the slow path towards correction
Fevers came and went
Chills came and went
Some days she was yellow
When her liver couldn’t keep up
Some days she was bloated
Because she couldn’t digest the food
All progress was incremental
But we progressed toward something
Toward some point of recovery
She began to talk
Forcing her voice around the trachea
And that was almost more frustrating
Because we couldn’t understand her
And she so wanted to be heard
– J.C. Hewitt
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{ 5 comments }
John,
Two things really resonated with me:
- “not designed … for anything besides treating the body”: When I had a stroke, I just hated that the medical staff kept referring to me as “the stroke in bed 1″—I wanted to scream, “I’m not a stroke; I’m a person!”
- “we couldn’t understand her and she so wanted to be heard”: After the stroke I couldn’t talk for several days—I thought it was talking, but it just came out as strange sounds; not being heard was terrible.
In the previous poems, I’ve identified with you and your family; in this one, I identify with your mother.
Lillie Ammanns last blog post..Thanks to February Commenters
Thank you Lillie. I would be miserable if I couldn’t talk.
I love the last two lines of this poem!
Oh, this one pierces me! The anguish of so wanting to be heard.
I’m loving the restraint with which you’re writing these, which makes them so powerful.
Lovely write! I worked as an RN for about 20 years, and stroke and other neuro patients expressed the inability to speak as being the most frightening part of the recovery. I relt these patients needed TLC and always explained to families who were intimidated by the system (unlike the family in the poem) the importance of their love and interaction with the patient. Your perception of the hospital is very enlightening to me. No one bothers to explain anything to the families, and it is rough. imo a lovely write!!!
butterflyzrfrees last blog post..Poetry Contest