Fourteen times

You have been brought to this hospital fourteen times 

in the last eleven years. What’s going on with you? 

The nurse clearly suspicious of my motivations.

What’s there to say? What excuses could I give that 

satisfies a suspicious mind? Do I dodge the question and 

tell her how demoralising it is that this statistic blows 

any sporting Personal Best into oblivion?

Is a wry smile enough to ward off further enquiry? I know 

from experience that it won’t garner any further sympathy.

Am I accident prone, or just plain careless? It’s not as if I 

go looking for the chance to become injured or maimed. 

Hot metal from a grinder getting past my safety glasses.

Bitten by an Eastern Brown in my own back yard. A branch 

from a gum tree falling onto my head. I look remarkably 

normal and healthy for someone so intent on self-destruction.

Do I continue living as I have hoping the trend of accidents 

diminishes with age, or do I cover myself in bubble wrap 

and step into armour each time I venture from the relative 

safety (until recently) of my own dwelling?

The neurologist is delighted to see me. He now knows he 

will learn something new about the human body - but not 

enough to cure me. Not enough to stop or slow the 

incessant journeys under flashing lights and sirens.

Oh, wretched man that I am! 

Who will save me from this body of death!

MDC

April 2021