The Operating Table

He studied the chart with such careful scrutiny,

one of several doctors who had stopped by my bed,

his eyes only saw the paper as he spoke to the air

not even caring if I had any response,

examined the same facts and recommendations

to make sure he got paid for calling it a visitation.

 

Quickly producing an ink pen and pushing the end

so the point would appear and he could put his initials

on the chart to show he was there though he had done nothing.

 

A nurse came by to check my blood pressure

despite the fact someone else had checked it five minutes earlier,

she never asked how I was coping with waiting for the operation,

but did take time to also mark the patient’s chart.

 

Then the anesthesiologist came by to have me sign a consent form

babbled about the risks of death and possible brain damage,

didn’t looked me in the eye even once.

 

Overheard two nurses rambling about a surgery blunder

some scalpel left in a body that lead to a second operation,

just hope the meds given to sedate me has caused hallucinations,

before I watched an orderly drop a tray of surgical instruments,

quickly reached down to pick them up,

but kept pushing them around on the floor,

finally collecting them and tossing them on the tray.

 

Another orderly with coke bottle lens in his glasses

came towards me and kept bumping into walls,

said it was his job to take me to the operating room

so he started to push me in that direction

regularly bumping into the walls.

 

Last thing I remember seeing

was this sign over the room’s doors

it read, “Healers by love and compassion.”

I thought it was truly insane compare to the truth,

then faded off to black

while hoping I would wake

without something foreign inside my body.