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| StarPoet Newsletter Vol. IX, No. XXXVIII |
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| Written by Lisa Jain Thompson | |
| Sunday, 28 September 2008 | |
 The StarPoet Newsletter
Vol. IX, No. XXXVIII I have been slack
In writing My muse preoccupied With more pressing matters But I am not nearly ready
To join the gods
In silence Lisa Jain Thompson C. 2008 C. E.  
The Contention, First Chapter
When first I was back
A Patchwork Yellow
Lying in the hospital bed,
Watching the saline drip, Feeling the antibiotics and pain meds Flow over my arm to heart to everywhere. I’ve become intimately familiar
With my rotating nurses, The aids, the various doctors -- I’ve met my surgeon’s entire scoobie staff, Residents, interns, med students. We await the moment
To fix this, remove that, Extract the gall bladder
-- Zip, zip, and gone, All done ‘til the next thing goes wrong. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 recovering observation
Mechanics
My bed moves better than I do, Fully articulate in multiple directions, Constantly adjusting to pressure As I shift my weight. The small tv pivots
On this space station movable arm, Constructed from a series of universal joints That provide full rotation that any major league pitcher Or professional football player would die for. There is a whiteboard on the wall in front of me
That is updated each shift change with duty staff, The tv schedule, however, Relies on the goodness of my memory. Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008
Never get sick when you are between Primary Doctors
-- The bureacracy does not handle ambiguity well. watching the bureacracy
Bureaucratic Housework
My doctors are fighting over my body,
Arguing over (I mean giving expert opinion on) The next best course of medical action: Do it now, wait two weeks, wait six weeks and punt. They’re making sausage in front of the patient, Not realizing that one bureaucracy Is just as ugly and transparent as any other, Even if they dress theirs up with the Hippocratic oath. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008 shall we dine?
In Name Only
I woke up this morning
With the smell of coffee Wrapping around my brain And the distinct aroma of roasting turkey At the point where the flesh is still moist But the skin is turning dark and crisp. The coffee is probably
From the early arriving shift change, Fresh and hot brewed to kick start their day -- But I’m pretty sure the turkey is a fantasy Even though I can taste the seasoned skin And feel the crunch as my teeth by through it. Funny what you think of at 5 A. M. in a hospital bed;
I wonder what the gravy and stuffing is like. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008
Dying is highly overrated.
adventures in homecare
Brief Interlude
I’m back home, I’m pretty sure of that, Under homecare, shooting antibiotics, Getting ready to remove a gallbladder Somewhere down the road -- I have a stash of good painkiller Just in case – Now if you want to talk about bland diets … Lisa Jain Thompson
September 2008 what I learned later
To The Gap and Back
One of the various people Who passed through my hospital room Told me my fever reached 107 F (that’s 41.66 C for you Celsius types) -- I don’t know, I wasn’t there, No more than when I was very young And the polio fever drove my body Into convulsions and my mother Into despair. I’ve come back both times. I have no idea why
Other than I have no intention of leaving Without putting up a good fight And, even then, only when I choose to go; That moment is not now, nor any tomorrow I can reasonably perceive. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008
By polio, by collapsing bridge overhead, by tumbling jeep,
By crashing airplane, By body turned against itself:
Death comes easily if you tarry.
Keep moving 'less it catches you unawares.
physical diagnosis
Blood Diamonds I have two dozen – thirty more Gallstones inside my bladder, Each one a time bomb waiting to explode; After the swelling disappears, After the infection surrenders, We will take it out -- Stones, bladder, and all. Meanwhile I am taking intravenous doses Of targeted antibiotics That make the whole world taste metallic. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008 back at home
A Previously Deceased Poet
Thirty minutes of measured drip
Followed by a few hours of nausea, Tiredness, And occasional body chills That confirm that I am alive And not on some high tech slab In a Fairfax hospital basement. Nausea is a single pleasure
For savoring my existence. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008
 in the course of conversation
The Question That Must Be Asked
Do you want to be resuscitated?
What an odd questions to ask me. I want you to do your damnedest For two months, three, or more; Gather all your expensive medical technology And bring me back from whatever Abyss I might find myself. I am sick, not crazy,
I have no intention of vacating This bed prematurely, In fact, I’ll most likely tarry A little longer than you might find Absolutely necessary. So yes, bring me back,
I probably have a poem to write. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008  grumblings
Normal and Messy
It is normal to be alive,
It is more normal to be dead; Who am I to say That one state is preferred To the other. To an unbiased observer,
Dead is much less messy than alive, Wasting little energy on eating, evacuating, Or exchanging bodily fluids. Somewhat closer to the situation, I prefer life
To any of its more energy efficient alternatives. Lisa Jain Thompson September 2008
  © Lisa Jain Thompson 1995-2008. Further distribution of this newsletter in its entirety is authorized. Email your letters and postcards or visit her contact page at the Starpoet website |
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