white cotton curtains

Thursday, May 9th, 2019

There are white cotton curtains on the

hospital room, there is a woman at the end

f-the bed, wishes good morning, says that

the aneasthetiusts are waiting in the basement.

There are tubes in the left arm, waiting for the

syringes. They were put in by the man during the operation yesterday, the one that left the 

hand as a mass of bandages. There is a

splint in there somewhere as well..

The two bed ward is dean, freshly painted.

The man in the other bed is older. He was a

manual labourer, he ruined his bones and their

points by working hard all of his life, he is now

being pieced together again, his tones and his

joints are being repaired.. He cannot walk yet,

he was operated on yesterday.. He is a friendly

man with a moustache. He explains that he used

to be a roofer, building the big roofs of German churches.

young man white comes in and says that it is time to go to the anaesthiscistsu. Follow him

through hospital corridors, to a lift, then

through a door. A big empty room, prepared

for the beds of these recurring operations. All

is neat, tidy and; so clean..

sit at a table, wait. Afriendly brisk woman

in white come over. She has two syringes in

her hand. She unscrews the cap on the one tube and discards it. Then she takes the red cap from one of the syringes and places it to the side.

After attaching the syringe to the tube, the contents are slowly pressed into the body.

And then the red cap is replaced on the tube

to seal it..

The peocedure is repeated for the other tube.

White cap off, discard..

Hook up the syringe, press the plunger.

Red cap on.

And then some notes are made on the clipboard

and then back up the passages, the lift into the

fifth floor, and back to the room with the retired roofer, in the other bed.

Another half an hour, and then the therapeut

arrives, she unpacks the hand. The skim under

the bandages is bloody, the stitching crude. But

it only needs to be functional, not beuutiful.

The wounds are still seeping blood. But the

little finger's movement seems to be restored.

The-therapeut carefully moves the finger up

and down and back and forth. After a

while she seems happy, and wraps it all

back up again.

And meanwhile, a nurse has come in with

breakfast. Two rolls, a tiny pot of coffee, and

a few contaners with jam  in one, and patii

the other: and that will be all untill midday.