Mother Nurse

Wasn't she

The epitome of motherhood

For me when in my new life

(For I have a new life now)

When in my new life I opened my

Eyes and I saw her peeping into

My new baby wounds.

 

She had a mild face with lines

Of concentration - a squarish

Shape carved with experience

And boundless concern. And like

A newborn babe I was.

 

-

 

Every night from dark to light

She would look through the glass

Pane and I would pick up my finger

And she would bring me a sip

Of water to drink and later she

Would, with her kind hands, wash

My newborn wounds and look at them

And click-clack her tongue

As per the mood of my wounds.

 

And then sometimes she would

Be strict - she would try hard,

Really hard to be strict, but in

The end she would irrevocably relent

Like a doting mother and would

Begin again nursing an overgrown

Child, that I am.

 

I do not know about the Teresas

Of the world. I am like that

Illegitimate child of nature, who

Has to count one day after another

In pain, in thoughts of gloom and

Life but when your life is full

Of such doctor-mothers, your life

Is a little bit bearable, and you

Can smile in the warmth of the love

That is showered from them.

 

She would pinch me needles

Beating my hands here and there

In search of those ever

Elusive veins and she would try

To find the least painful point

To prick and then the way her

Round bulky eyes, tired from

Having an erratic sleeping pattern

Would look at me, I would forget

All pain – herself in her blue gown

And a smart bun on the head and

The ever tied up mask over her face,

And the confidence

 

Of holding a forte

Full of critically ill patients.

Note: I wrote this poem days after my kidney transplant in 2015.