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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1302045
by Hezza
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Medical · #1302045
The sterile environment of a bone-marrow transplant patient
I wrote this after first being told of the treatment that my uncle had to go through when suffering Hodgkins Disease. He later died, and this is posted in his memory.


Disinfectant, strong and white,
White floor,
White walls,
White ceiling.
The crisp pressed bedsheets also white,
And pillows,

I live in a world of clinical smells,
Of germ-free surfaces,
Spotless floors.
Everything clean and spotless,
No dirt,
No life.

Family and friend visit with masks,
Through a wall of glass,
White I sit in my disinfected prison,
On the other side.
No touching,
No holding,
No kissing,

It didn’t sound hard
When they told me I’d have to sit
In a pressurised room,
To force any particles out,
Away from me,
But it’s hard to be here
When they’re all out there –
What life can there be for me,
When there’s no life allowed
Around me?
© Copyright 2007 Hezza (hezza1506 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1302045