Hospital Echoes

Heart racing, his mind struggles
This is now, not then.
Whispers of childhood
Haunt his every step.
This is now, not then.
Flashes of memory roll through his mind
As a gurney oft rolled him through these halls
Or halls just like these, he reminds himself
That was then, not now.
His chest tightened, he strains for each step
Awash in vintage anxiety
He focuses his thousand yard stare.
This is now.
That was then.
The sharp scent of rubbing alcohol
Nurses and surgeons in their scrubs induce
Childhood fear.
He acknowledges the fear
But keeps his eyes ahead.
God this is hard.
His head is swimming now
Nought but his sight
Keeps his balance.
The world is spinning
He can taste the aseptic air.
That was then, this is now.
And the fear remains.
Choking him, stabbing at him
Begging him to run, scream, cry…
Do something.
Again he mutters, 
That was then, not now.
General Surgery… check in.
He walks in… 
To the recovery room.
A wrong turn, and his knees nearly buckle before he catches himself.
His voice… no…
His father's voice
Sprouts from his throat
Asking directions.
He finds the reception office
Gives his information
Weight. Height. Blood pressure.
(That was then, this is now.)
The terror in his bones ignores the mantra.
He listens to the doctors, the nurses, 
Unbelieving.
Walking in a day?
Full recovery in 6 weeks.
He's sure they said that forty years ago 
To his parents
And the boy's wounds still haven't healed.

Copyright © Matthew Wetter | Year Posted 2023

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