I’ve been in the hospice about two weeks now. As a result, most of the staff know me well. I’ve been cared for by them, nursed by them, supported by them and carried along by them too. It’s been a real up and down ride between crying that I’ve wanted to go home, to see my kids and be with my family, to be amongst my comfort, my world; and of knowing that I couldn’t currently be in a better place, the help I need just a buzz away and my two girls saved the trauma of their mummy in excruciating pain.
And now for something completely different! I’m not usually a poet, but, the other night my tiniest girl was having trouble sleeping, and it just sort of popped into my head. Who knows where it came from, but didn’t Percey Shelley do some of his best writing on opiates or something? I’ll not be the poet laureate anytime soon, but I thought it was rather fun and that I’d share x