in the heart of the intensive care unit
my mother sits
propped up in an armchair beside her bed
her wispy hair neatly brushed back
her pallid skin luminous
under the fluorescent strip lighting
giving her an almost ghostly countenance
24 hours ago she emerged from theatre
after six and a half hours on the operating table
the surgical team were assembled
anesthesia administered
scalpel proferred
incisions made
a lung collapsed
a rib broken
a large tumour removed from her blocked gullet
her stomach reattached to whatever remains
now
doped up with painkillers
she drifts in and out of consciousness
her train of thought blurry
her speech only semi-coherent
"nil by mouth" says the sign
her throat is dry
her voice raspy but audible
she is the hub of an intricate network
which impedes her movement
tubes, pipes and catheters
feed oxygen, food and vital fluids in
more tubes, pipes and catheters
collect various waste fluids in bags
a monitor displays a raft of indicators
of bodily function
in real time
heart rate
breathing
blood pressure
other stuff i can't fathom
this array of technology
maintained and monitored
by a kind and vigilant young chap called joseph
somehow keeps my own flesh and blood ticking
against all nature's odds
as i grasp my mother's warm hand
i perceive sitting before me
a triumph of science
a miracle of the modern age
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