Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history ~ Plato

Saturday, March 10, 2012

Waiting Game

Dignity disappears the minute you walk into a hospital waiting room.
Triage, means maybe YOU shouldn't even be there.
How long you're made to wait will determine the worth of your complaint.

Cumbersome, barely able to waddle forth
toward the ripped skin of an ancient chair
permanently bolted to the sick-ward green tiles.

They look at you, you know
like, what the hell?
Still, this is what you were told to do.

So you wait, as dis~ease swarms
feeding on the life that courses through your veins
that now cradle a life yet to know pain

misfortune, selfishness, illness
or not enough insurance coverage
to go about this the way you want.

An hour later, even those warm butterflies
tickling your womb start to show the signs of stress
until finally they threaten to send you home

You're not ready yet...the pain is figment of
imagination, and I'm sorry Miss
but we've no beds ready.

1999 was a banner year in my bubble, one that introduced me for the first time to the medical system we have come to be so proud of.  There are amazing miracles that happen everyday in this country at no cost to the patient. Lives are saved, (ask my Dad!) and lives are started, but the flaws are there, and I would love to see them fixed. No matter my grievances, we welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world on November 26th, 1999...as eventually, the bed was found...when I refused to be sent home!

So Shawna of Rosemary Mint, many thanks to you for the flashback to 99 as the prompt at Poetics today. Happy I was able to make it...and you, dear reader, should venture over and tell us about YOUR 1999 at dVersePoets

20 comments:

Mama Zen said...

Ah, yes; the "you're not ready yet, go home" treatment. I hated that.

Brian Miller said...

ugh...def not a fan of that being sent back home...labor for our first was horrible...i relive that one in my nightmares honestly...

Claudia said...

goodness..glad you insisted on staying..otherwise the baby would've been born in the car probably...

The Silver Fox said...

I always love the personal stuff. Quite the experience. Glad everything turned out well. :)

Timoteo said...

Nice write. This is what keeps midwives in business!

Mary said...

Good for you for saying NO and meaning it. There is power in someone saying NO and refusing to leave. YOU knew what you needed, thank god for that. Most often the 'patient' does know BEST.

Anonymous said...

Ugh, that ending:
"and I'm sorry Miss
but we've no beds ready"

Hospital stays for any reason are miserable.

"toward the ripped skin of an ancient chair" ... love the sound and visual of this line, as well as the connection to your ripping belly; I remember that feeling all too well

~Shawna
rosemarymint.wordpress.com

Grace said...

Funny but my youngest was born much early in this year too ~ Our health care system isn't perfect but we are better off than other people in other countries ~

Nice share ~

mark said...

What a great memory, even if it didn't start so well.

I enjoy how you take your life and set it to verse.

hedgewitch said...

A landmark year for you indeed--nothing is the same afterwards, but not in a bad way. I'll never forget my OB-G saying to me "Stop fighting me!" Apparently I was just a leetle bit coarse in my language during that whole labor thing(and they don't call it that for nothing, do they?), and squirmy, too--and oh, he also hissed at me, "Stop screaming, you're scaring the other women. " ;_)

Loved it Tash--thanks for sharing the memories, even if they were the pits at the time.

Pat Hatt said...

Glad all turned out well, must have been hell. But they finally wised up after their little hiccup.

Charles Miller said...

You were caught in a terrible bind. I know that my youngest son was born, we were lucky then to have a university hospital nearby who paid for all the costs. You are right about the way they treat sometimes, and if you don't have insurance they get even meaner. Thank goodness your child was born well and healthy, and I hope she does not have too much sorrow and pain. As I await my second grandchild, this poem hit home, especially since my daughter only now is eligible thanks to the healthcare plan that was passed here. At least she will have the child before the other party can revoke it from millions of desperate citizens.

Marbles in My Pocket said...

Quite an ordeal! I'm glad it worked out in the end.
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2012/03/10/someone-passed-by-today/

zongrik said...

no beds ready reminds me of the day i had my younger son. it was summer solstice, full moon and of course, June, the time most babies are born, and i got to the hospital, and they told me i had the last bed because it was so crowded and the next woman in had to be on a gurney in the hall!!!

Yousei Hime said...

Wow, that first stanza...I've seen it so often. Good for you on staying in spite of their insistence. Nicely written tale that caught the emotion and scene.

Baur said...

I'm not a fan of waiting!

stu mcp (hate & hope) said...

Hospitals suck. And whilst many doctors do brilliant jobs- e places sometimes just feel like factories- in out in out- spent too much time in them recently- and man- you see some sights- the drunks, the drug addicts, the police, the dark dry blood stains- but then to have a miracle of a baby - now THAT would be a conflict- wanting to give birth with such excitement- but in the right environment- the contrast and conflict really comes across ( for me anyway). Nice one Tash- your words are always so honest and real...and that's why your damn good :)

Beachanny said...

The textures of the hospital set in contrast to your personal feelings and emotions come through with strength and verity in this piece Tash. Nicely penned.

Henry Clemmons said...

I have so missed your heart. I really hate ERs myself. I am glad your story worked out. You painted the picture perfectly.

Bodhirose said...

You don't mess with pregnant women! Glad you refused to be dismissed and you had a healthy baby girl. I loved the telling of your story.