Caesarean Section – Saturday September 30th 1972

In the 70s, ante/post natal care in the UK within the NHS left a great deal
to be desired. Thankfully that has changed over the years and mums are now treated
like human beings.

Sunlight edged through bevelled
glass, hovered softly across
the water, a jug of liquid gold

waiting for painful sips to be
taken as surges rose and fell;
you had decided it was time,
we would do this together.

You shifted and shifted
hour after laboured hour;
I pushed in vain, until
suddenly it seemed all
senses were cancelled,
crossed off the list of
essentials for giving birth.

I clawed my way out of
drug riddled fog; no doctor,
no nurse, no family – no baby.
My silent screams bounced off
icy walls like a pin ball.

Twenty-eight life long hours later,
trundling wheels through endless
corridors to nowhere led me slowly
toward you, stone-faced uniform,
accusatory, hostile silence.

We finally met, still painfully
divided by unyielding glass;
you were beautiful –
vulnerable, innocent,
impossible and real.

And I had failed you already.

 

 

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All Will Be Well

All shall be well
and all shall be well
and all manner of things
shall be well
Julian of Norwich

All Will Be Well

I’m not sure where my head was
when I bought the books,
recipes to die for, illustrated,
when even a spoon can argue
its way out of grip.

I think there was a quiver of loss,
last-ditch attempt to hold on,
ache of desire and grief for what was;
sore fingers grappling rock
before the fall.

But wanting leads us down a path
of sufferance,  starves the spirit,
sucks it dry.
Time to let go, embrace a
new normal, accept what is,
here in the moment;
an exposition, prelude to the next phase,
knowing that

wind will still blow secrets to the birds,
sun tease with games of hide and seek.
Rain will still fall soft on arid soil
or pelt like Tungsten darts,
and night stay true to promise of the day,
dewy grass to loosen rooted fears,
new breath,
a hint of trust.

New Arrival!! – Haiku (I think!)

Tess Veronica
the first baby granddaughter
Bring on all that’s pink!

I think the hospital had a rush on, ran out of pink blankets and she was wrapped in blue!!

Not for long!!!!

Sobriety – 10 Years On

Ten years on I still hate parties,
hear lucid conversation dissolve
to embarrassing gibberish,
recoil from alcohol drenched
kisses on the cheek and,
ten years on, can still sit in
self-righteous judgement
upon people simply trying
to enjoy themselves.

But alcohol dragged me swiftly
beyond the realms of enjoyment
to a lonely space of despair,
lured me toward dark, desolate,
dangerous places,
stole my dignity, self-worth,
almost robbed me of
family and friends,
and nearly killed me.

Ten years on I wouldn’t
trade my sobriety for anything.

Wendy L. Macdonald

My faith is not shallow because I've been rescued from the deep.

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