‘I gather there’s not much hope’ <br />you sighed this morning, <br />all boggy and sad. <br /> <br />Till we met Kirsty, <br />fine physiotherapist, <br />who took your ‘crippled’ hand in hers <br />and worked it <br />gently <br />intently <br />like a sculptor <br />molding a masterpiece. <br /> <br />And little by little <br />your sleepy muscles <br />opened their eyes. <br /> <br />‘I think she’s kidding…’ <br />but you knew she wasn’t. <br /> <br />And when she told you <br />you could walk <br />without the frame, <br />you didn’t believe her. <br />Till you tried <br />and you did <br />and you cried. <br />And so did I. <br /> <br />And tonight, <br />the psychologist <br />called Diane <br />(sixty something <br />with a kind face <br />and the grace <br />of a saint) <br />said simply: <br /> <br />‘You don’t honestly imagine they’d bother with all this rehab <br />if they didn’t think you were worth it, do you? Do you realize, <br />you’re costing the government over $500 a day - <br />And that’s just for the bed? ’ <br /> <br />No prayers. <br />No promises. <br />No bullshit. <br /> <br />And you believed her.<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/jerry-s-journey-the-light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel/
