Bring a turtle

Surgeries need sterility. My husband would be the first to write a thesis on the mulitude of dire and death conspiracies as dusk falls upon his long fridays

For almost a decade, on and off. I might have been one of the first persons standing by as people awaken to their new lives. Groggy and sometimes googly eyes. Welcome bac and i pat their hands. That was a good landing. Patched up kidneys. Transplanted vessels. Knocked in spiffy metallic knees. Teased or torn out malicious tiny cells that jaunter ard and about. And then we walk, literally, together to bring them home, hopefully.

Because of that, i see a lot of bare naked hands. And i have come to realise, as i had written somewhere else, bare hands tell stories. Witnesses. The rings the creases the smurged thumbprints. The hands that are cold when i hold them, then hands that find mine as though we go way back beyond the 15minutes of therapy.

if we all had to choose 1 thing we can bring into surgery with us, if we could what would it be. A precious ring that ruled them all. A ring given in promise. Or in my children’s cases cars or toys in case they are bored i asked?

I want to hold your hand.

Dont let go ok. Chirpped the 2 yr old. I might get lost.

Maybe we can bring a turtle too. They are patient. And they dont die.

Time loses us. Then we wander back as i watch them play.