Triage

{A poem about a visit to triage(/the emergency midwife ward) when 25 weeks, after a rather hard bump to the bump took place c/o an armrest on a coach, when the driver started the engine before I'd sat down. It hurt, but all was well - thank god!}

Triage
Mirage
Boat barge
Hell

Why won’t anybody tell
Us what is going on
Why have we had to wait this long?

Outside of the curtained stall
Other mother’s, strained phone calls
Labour sounds and slow heartbeats
The fear of mum’s I’ll never meet

Husband
Panicked
Try to
Stay strong
All the while, the clock ticks on

And in that time, all around
Other parents make such awful sounds
They say that bad news travels fast
Privacy, a thing of the past

But the midwifes smile
With peaceful words
‘Now then darling, which part hurts?’

Blood pressure
Samples
Lie down
Wait
Listen with trumpets
Accept our fate

Triage is a scary place
And through our shroud, we tell
The check up taking place next door
Isn’t going at all well

But you kick and writhe and slither
Until we’re sure you must be fine
Finally they come to us, to confirm that we are right
And so we leave the triage ward
Relieved, our nerves on edge
Thankful to have no more need
For that
Sagging
Single
Bed.

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