Best Hysterectomy Poems
She places her life
In the care of her doctor
A shot and a haze fills her eyes
And her thoughts wonder.
Images arise
Inside her, she remembers
When twice upon a time
She had carried them.
Had given birth to them
Now grown, with children of their own
In a couple of hours it would be gone
It was for the best.
A matter of health
Yet eyes now shut, her heart wails
Wasn’t the first time she needed doctors
A smile’s on her face
She can feel him near
Her better half gone before her
Would not mind joining him.
Softly, he whispers,
“Where is that woman so brave?
That fought through many a pain,
Survived each time.
It’s not your time yet
You are still needed, and you know
I’m always there, and I’ll wait
For the day we are
Together again.”
In honor of my mother, having surgery today, a hysterectomy.
I was home last month for 2 weeks, wish I could have stayed longer.
Speedy recovery, mom!
About five years ago, I had a surgery and wrote this while in the hospital. I actually
quite enjoyed myself and the surgery was not painful for me at all! Just came across
this in my files and thought I'd throw it on here, for anyone worried about surgery
before Christmas time. It can actually be quite nice!
(Sing to Jingle Bells)
Refrain: Oh, IV drip! I sit and sip a juice or diet Sprite.
With each meal, I’m sure to feel more and more all right.
Oh, Bless my soul, remote control right nearby my head!
I watch TV, though groggily, right here from my bed.
1. A day most winter-y, I came for surgery.
But I felt nice and warm as drugs went in my arm.
It’s been so comforting to not recall a thing.
Of pain I hardly can complain while I’m recovering!
Oh. . . (refrain)
2. I’ve been here just a day and sure enjoy my stay.
I just turn on a light and take some time to write.
I’ve not yet had to pee. It’s being done for me!
Too bad this visit’s not all free, it’s like a luxury. . .
Oh. . . (refrain)
3. If I keep doing well, I’ll have a great Noel.
I’ll leave new and improved, this catheter removed.
My hysterectomy is what’s the best for me.
So minus “womb” I’ll leave this room and Christmas merrily!
Refrain: Oh, IV drip! I sit and sip a juice or diet Sprite.
With each meal I’m sure to feel more and more all right.
Oh, bless my soul. Remote control right nearby my head!
I watch TV, though groggily, right here from my bed.
If you could've been saved, I would've been over the moon.
But you died and you were taken far too soon.
You had to have a hysterectomy and your left leg amputated.
You were in so much pain, it was something that I truly hated.
My brother and I had to end your pain by taking you off the respirator.
If I would've had a choice, I would've rather wrestled with an alligator.
When you died, I came home and licked my wounds.
If you could've been saved, I would've been over the moon.
[Dedicated to Agnes Johnson (1948-2013) who passed away on March 6, 2013.]
Victory Scar
That long line still shows.
Thirty years a part of me;
precancer they said.
Hysterectomy so young;
lifesaving victory scar.
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Beautiful Scars
Contest Sponsor: Laura Urbaniak
Judged: 11/24/2015
Histories Hysterectomy
Do we want the truth; can we handle the truth?
Give us a fairy tale filled with complete devotion.
A broken heart we might mend.
Oh my some of us patrons of the arts;
Looking for hidden meanings;
Searching for useful prospects
Can we not appreciate the abstract?
Does the raven never stop at our door?
He’s just a winged bird looking for seed right?
Have we entered this auditorium as spectators?
Do we wait in line to ride a roller coaster;
Only to walk away when it was our turn?
God save us all from our own fears;
Let us be free to delve into;
The life we could never live.
If children are a blessing from God
Then why hasn’t He blessed me?
Could it be that I’ve written about His love
So unworthily?
I’ve seen young mothers, just teens they are
Brag about their abortion date
I saved myself for marriage
Am I the object of God’s hate?
Why is life, I’m asking now,
Why is it so unfair
He’ll give a child to everyone else
To all those who don’t even care
I don’t do drugs, or drink, or smoke
But I’m infertile anyway
I have served God for all of my life
Then me he decides to betray
Just one little baby, is it too much to ask
Is it too much for god to let be?
After I get to carry one full term
I promise to have a hysterectomy.
Tourist traps
Can a plonker should a plonker,
love a San-Goanna stonker,
not unless he’s bloody bonkers
coming is de crazy cats in white,
see crazy San-Goannas running,
sucking birds eggs, an out a hunting ,
Kookaburra eating snakes humming,
Ha, ha. ha, ha, sweet delight…
Mr tourist, watchem watchem,
Keep the eyeball sharp insight,
Funnel web, dodge and sidestep,
Death is coming with his bite
Watchem mr death by adder,
Step on him will fang ya badder,
Piddle from the bloody bladder,
Hysterectomy of fright,
Mr Death do say goodnight…
Don Johnson
no bities are getting ironed out by Aussies, some are protected like brown snakes, Brisbane still has Brown snakes and Kangaroos, though they are rare here...Funnell web spider is found in the Toowoomba mountain area and in Sydney suburbs sometimes....watch out for trapdoor web over an inch or bigger hole in ground....
The movers came to clean out my house,
And said to one another
“Let’s remove ALL the furniture!
The baby carriage and accessories
have served their purpose.
That old stuff is nothing but clutter now.
Don’t let the mother see us
take everything out.
She might want to save her heirlooms:
uterus, cervix, tubes and ovaries.
They really must go,
and it’s better to move them all at once.
Let’s make it quick.
We’ve got other cleaning jobs today, too.”
My baby’s room is empty.
The movers sealed off the space and left.
Where did my baby furniture go?
Was it handled with utmost care?
Will it be reused or recycled?
As owner for decades,
why did I believe their “better out than in”
prevention strategy and problem-solving remedy?
Who decided that I could live
without furniture anyway?
Will that area of my house shrink
for lack of occupancy?
Will the vacuum bring ecstasy, grief or pain?
Will the plumbing to my bathroom expand?
Hist er rec to me!
Does anyone understand why the head of my house
grapples with questions at hand?
I'm sitting here at my computer writing you this letter.
So many times you have filled my heart with love and joy.
I never had my own pair of bell bottom jeans til you bought them.
You were standing there holding my hand when I lost our
first baby.
The love I felt when we had the three most wonderful kids.
My first birthday cake when I was 19 you bought it for me.
Standing with me through all that crazy stuff and the
hysterectomy.
You have been there with me spending half my life in a
wheelchair.
We've had hard times but we always loved each other.
As I sit here watching you sleep I feel your love for me.
Our love for one another will never die.
For my darling husband mine forever and always.
Teresa Skyles
Monologue of a monolith
to live in a moment
was futile. A young house was in disorder.
Not listening, I would find the missing links.
Grey ash to be smeared on forehead in horizontal
lines for shifting the planets.
The age creeps quietly, irremediably poor,
unchanged in hysteria : after hysterectomy
the womb lies in dirt. Ethnic violence will fill
the carts of mutilated bodies, move to market,
selling the rage. Be in today, or tomorrow,
the blood brings honour.
Do not complain of weather, these arthritic
fingers, crooked toes, you will end on a cliff
after the logic of war fails. A bald year
moves, untrusting the noble men, I ascend
a coin to find the circa of topless democracies
destroying the pillars of feet.
SATISH VERMA
their nails were rimmed with blue and grey
a clinical circle was bordering stain
noisily blossoming; smeared by the pain
the indigo purpled and mantled her flay
a bruising delusional; deafened contusional
denting and doubling and bubbling inflamed
detriment gently, vain hysterectomy sectioning skin by the strain
derelict centering
feigning and fondling
further and fairly deveined
hemophilia setting in
azure limbs fettering
murdering pale for her stay
cracked from a stutter their
lips turned in color with
blue blooming out of the brain
drained on the flooring panes
still and yet subtly
shivering like it would rain
granted their status by
siren with blood in eyes
poisonous digits dig in
mild dim underskin
derma tint muddling
water spills out with a feign
My mom has surgery this afternoon, a hysterectomy, to remove cancer. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Thank you!
He said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.” Mark 5:34
STORMING THE ROCK
such lonely life in the dumplings,
clingstone as a cancerous mass —
robotic fingers
like a precise hurricane
must excise, smooth out, set straight
12/15/2020
From wikipedia: Clingstone is a house built in 1905, perched atop a small, rocky island in an island group called "The Dumplings" in Narragansett Bay, near Jamestown, Rhode Island. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clingstone
After about fifty years as married wife
the last three fraught with strife
obvious telltale signs of terminal illness rife
hysterectomy irrevocably didst jackknife
at the least severely incapacitated
think pitted, riddled,
and rounced her tortured life.
Ovarian cancer affliction
on par with megadeath
bald pate (color of bleached skull),
and crossbones characterized mortal death
oxygen tank to sustain each measured breath.
Nonetheless her angry spirited accursed
ferocity, ejaculatory, denunciatory burst
expletive and epithet
peppered preponderant rant,
(no kidney you) laced
and dull livered worst
fulmination, exasperation,
(albeit feebly faint)
damnation well versed
lips mouthing implacable thirst
to defy grim reaper uber
lyft driver analogous hearst
jubilation immune to
interrogation and/or humiliation
diatribes interpreted glorification,
remained scythe lent bore
scathing rebukes hurled regarding
her sole son (courtesy
miraculous biological reproduction)
dogged with financial perdition
eased series of unfortunate events narration
blessed nonagenarian widower husband
generous father gave male progeny
eased (his/mine) absolution
availed immense monetary boost,
she (envision banshee)
voiced abhorrent objection
regarding liberal outpouring
triggered her vitriolic remenstration.
Similar with pointed gesticulation,
excoriation, cannibalization, abomination...
against reducing his albatross
yoking penurious defeat
her livid hostility displayed, decried,
damned how Matthew Scott,
(I shoal mussel metaphor
without clamming up, how
said offspring coasts) along easy street,
while she sorely protested (thankfully in vain)
even after succumbing to painful demise,
she vehemently, obstreperously and helplessly
loathes handsome handout
to yours truly forsakes Pete.
The One I Never Met
I never met you.
I dreamed of you for so long—
You knew that.
That dream was a secret only we could share.
So many nights you were in my belly, my arms, your crib,
I woke up to find you weren’t there.
My life is full and rich now,
Yet the fact still remains—
There’s a hole in my heart because you’re not here.
I don’t know where you are.
I would’ve loved you—
I do love you.
You are haunting me.
It’s exhausting me.
I wish you would just stop.
But I know you can’t help it,
We are both lost.
I will hold you in my heart, my soul.
It’s the burden I bare—
The only secret we’ll ever get to share.
I know what your name would have been.
I promise I will remember it.
Katie’s ribs pressed against her skin,
the sharp angles of a body once soft.
She lifted her blouse, let me see—
the stubs, the little bumps,
two perfect incisions smooth as marble.
I swallowed.
Physically lubricious—I couldn’t do it.
Her perfume fought the chemo stench.
Coiffed mascara, a careful face,
a practiced smile, teeth too straight.
She asked if I still wrote poetry.
I said nothing.
Once, she stretched across the hood of my car,
blonde roots peeking through red box dye,
sipping melted ice from a gas station cup,
her freckles a map I traced in secret.
She could talk for hours,
a queen without a kingdom.
She whispered after the hysterectomy,
baby gravy’s got nowhere to go.
No need for rubber—
I trust you.
I left the room, shame humming in my jaw,
the sound of her voice stuck in my teeth.
Later, I cried.