Biopsy

 

Biopsy

They tell me later
while sedated on the gurney
I forgot to breathe.
Nurse (tiny woman)
shouts “Breathe, dammit!”
so I do. I pay attention
to women.

Another nurse (burly, male)
apologizes for shaving my chest hair,
asks if I mind. I understand men.

A voice asks me to choose
music for the room. I say “Bluegrass.”
Voice asks “Huh?”

They dose me with fentanyl
so I have not a care, I float
simply curious watching
as a doc pokes holes between ribs.
Fingers, instruments, giant needles,
a sharp and delicate ballet to bluegrass
ballads of betrayal, hearts broken,
songs of mortality making the surgeon wince.

Bandage, bed rest, recovery ward
while a moaning woman behind a curtain
curses loudly in Spanish.
Might I suggest
fentanyl?

X-ray says I’m okay
to discharge. Lab results
news good or bad next week.
Woozy in wheelchair to curbside
to home with my love to sleep all afternoon,
then evening watch a rom com because
we like happy
endings.

…..

photo by Sasin Tipjai

Note: a week later the lab results showed no problems. Benign is a lovely word.