Transplantation Number 3

Another putting on of bare-back hospital gown.
Another anaesthetist warning of strokes and clots.
Another slicing open of the left eye.

Later, noisy nurses and quietly-pleased doctors
Look down at me. We raise crossed fingers, and hope.

Then, on a narrow gurney, alone. Is it night?
Eye so sore, but spirits soar.  Bubbles of  hope.

Next day the surgeon, wanting perfection,
Breathes out slow,  takes a tiny scalpel
And twists one of the knots round.

“It might break,” he says. “I hope not.”
It doesn’t. We both breathe in again.

He shows me a big picture  of his work –
Individually knotted sutures  radiating out,
Just like a child’s sun in a picture book
I hope to be able to read one day, to Tane.

4 thoughts on “Transplantation Number 3

  1. Hi Janice. I didn’t know about your eye operation. Good luck for a speedy recovery.
    I have enjoyed your year of poetry very much.

    Best wishes, Andrea

  2. I don’t know how you can bear to do it, but at least you can see well enough to do so! Love the combination of gruesomeness and reading to Tane! I’m sure he’ll love it too when he’s older!

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