An hour away from October and musing on the month that’s
almost gone. I can’t say it’s been uneventful.
The pre-op, the swabs, the procedure, the injections, the pains, the aches, the frustrations, the malfunctions, the early mornings, the disturbed nights, the restrictions, the weariness, the things which worked out and the more frequent things which didn’t. There are probably more if I could be bothered to think harder. And then there was the beguiling case of the mysterious Filipina nurse whose face I never saw; just her eyes, a swinging ponytail, and hands which seemed to symbolise connection.
For in that month of life, what dreams may come
When we are shackled to this mortal coil
Must give us pause.
What on earth was September all about? Everything that
happens teaches us something, so what of September? Is that the point of it
all?
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