Get up and get at it

My mum suffered a huge brain injury in 1973. Last night I was ranting about the quality of care she recieves in our rural town. Today it’s in the news that the NHS is failing patients with neurological conditions

What’s it like?

To no longer ride your bike

To look at a word

Understand if it’s heard

But to be unable to read

A newspaper, novel or creed

Except at a snail’s pace

To have to withdraw from the race

Forced not to compete

Is it like looking for that receipt?

That you know is there

But is nowhere to be found

You search round and round

And when you finally get it

The shop won’t accept it

Except, it happens every day

You continually pay

For that moment you decided

Your tutor could drive it

And he crashed into a van

Disrupting your plan

You spent your twenties

Learning to read again

Write again

Speak again

Growing back the patch of blonde hair

Finding out which friends care

And which friends can’t,

Hack, your predicament

You were still a hottie

Still liked to party

But your free flow was faltering

Your footstep haltering

Yet you kicked off your shoes

Banished the blues

Resolutely refused

To give up on your life

You chose to stay and fight

Will I ever understand

How you bagged yourself a man

As good as my dad

When you couldn’t even open your right hand

How you changed the nappies

Of three kids, under four

With no mum at your door

How despite your reliance

You kept your independence

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