It's been several weeks since I limped <br />through the front door, joyous at the thought <br />of being at home. <br />Beside beloved Alison, who'd sat at my bed- <br />side during the worst of my recuperation, <br />I was met by Ella, our dachshund, wagging her <br />tail so vigorously her rump threatened to fall off. <br /> <br />Rommy, the Russian blue, silently mouthing a <br />meow, and Sadie, the tortoise-shell delight made <br />up a welcoming trio. <br /> <br />Yes, I was alive and home, eleven kilograms lighter, <br />hardly ate the hospital food, for want of another word. <br />Recalling the surgeons words, '15% you'll have a stroke, <br />5% you'll die during the operation.' And if I don't have it' <br />I asked. 'You'll die', the surgeon said. 'I'm in your hands, ' <br />I replied - cognizant of the ramifications. <br /> <br />And you want to know something? It's good to be home!<br /><br />jerry hughes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/weeks-later/
