Anger

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Himself: Listened to me then made pancakes. Thank you. Herself: Hospital then writing. Today I’m off to school then the hand doc for another shot. The last one did nothing, or little……perhaps I came back to the keyboard too soon. I may have to take a few days off to see if my hand heals. I will be taking part in NoMoJo no matter what. Food: Toast, half a burrito that really didn’t work, pancakes that did.

I came home from the hospital seething with anger. I’m no nurse, but why were these hard working women, these smiling kind people in the ICU, asking me where the daughter was. Why were they asking me if the cats were cared for. Why did they tell me that the doctor’s were unable to reach the daughter. Rhetorical questions, I know. They doubled my anger.

Lack of communication does this to me.

I told them I thought the daughter was coming. An email when I got home said the daughter was coming but on Friday. Unconscionably, if she had known her mother was lying there continually jerking. Someone was there with her continually. I truly appreciated that.

She looked young. Her braids were charming. I found an empty spot on the top of a hand, and I patted it telling her she was loved. Someone needed to say that in the midst of all the caring chaos. I didn’t stay long in the work that is an ICU.

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I’m not ready
for the tubes and wires
all clamped together
draped like Christmas
garlands over
what little of you I could see.

I’m not ready for
the suction sounds
as your teeth are brushed
your soul is brushed
your words are brushed away
forever

I’m not ready for the nurses to ask me
your not really a friend
friend
where your daughter is

coming down the coast I say
as if I know
what I am saying

I’m not ready
to find email from
the daughter
who hates you
still talking of paperwork
instead of
coming down to pull the plugs
and garlands
to quiet your
continual seizures
into forever.