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