I was oh so tired of the blood
soakings of it,
questions around intimacy,
will he still care, will I still care?
Pre-op blues and a bed full of doubt,
The distance hospital beds bring.
I’m on the inside looking out
And he’s on the outside not able to get in.
Labelled and fasting like a pilgrim before a long inner journey.
Always me watching me watching
alienated in a shower room, concentrated and clinical.
Then Alice in hysterectic stockings appears and
I laugh out loud, releasing endorphins
expecting the white rabbit to come round the corner
any minute now.
Long low hall lit by lamps,
doors all around the theatre corridor
which one to take?
Will there be a bottle saying Drink Me
when I enter?
Is my Prince going to come?
One last question before I go Miss,
can I keep my wandering womb?
Hysterical… she replied…
There’s an eight week waiting list at Pathology.
Now go to sleep
The needle scratched,
Hippocrates wants to calm you.