Memory, a whip in calloused hands
Lying pale, against a backdrop of starched, white sheets, a tube prying open your mouth, reaching into your throat, fetching you a little more life. ‘But her blood pressure,’ ’After this pint of blood we’ll know’, ‘Maybe she’ll be fine’, ’Ma, moenie bang wees nie. Ek is hier,’ ‘Kidney function’, ‘Take her home!’, ‘Adrenalin,’ ‘She’s stable’, ’A death in dignity,’ ‘Pulse’, ‘She’s 85,’ - It’s the monitors behind you keeping...
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