Today, as the title says, I would like to share something a little different. My younger sister, Ciara, has recently revealed that she has a knack for writing (must run in the family) but more specifically she writes fantastic poetry. What I will post below was written by my sister for an assignment in school, however I think it is fantastic and as with any art, must be shared as far as possible. She has posted some of her work on facebook, in a group called NHS 2020 HUMAN CHAIN, which is linked here:

https://www.facebook.com/groups/887592825011065/891647074605640/?comment_id=891651101271904&reply_comment_id=891652247938456&notif_id=1585904351762647&notif_t=group_comment_mention

The work I am posting here is about me being in intensive care, during my 8 day medically induced sleep. She wrote this in november, so I was around 4 months into my recovery. I think it is a very raw, real reflection of how she felt, and makes for a very compelling read. That’s enough from me, so here it is!

Powerlessly hopeful. As time stood still, we barged our way through the hustle and bustle; mile-long corridors held open our way to hell. Then it all stopped. The first set of heavy, steel, prison-like doors opened. Wearily, we entered, not knowing how many of us would make it back out. 

Warm like hell, but my blood ran cold. I sank into the itchy chair, waiting powerlessly. Unable to catch my breath, I choked up, so naive, not even remotely ready to see what was lurking on the other side of that cheap, old wall. The room was dingy, musty smelling, caked in fear upon innocent family member’s faces, past and present. History was made that day, and every day before it – a small victory was gladly welcomed by everyone. 

It was light inside, but the light was artificial. I was dark. Hollow in fact. Horror consumed me like a huge storm cloud covering the sun. Deafeningly silent was the only way to describe it, avoiding eye-contact with strangers yet they were the people that understood our pain the most. We were hopeful, yet powerless. Every single moment in there was morose, but what was to come was almost ominous. 

From fighting our way through what felt like a brass chain of people, to being in a prison cell, to what we experienced next – I crumbled. 

Intensive care… it’s not said lightly- a place full of machinery, like a 24/7 operation, working seamlessly under the pressure of life or death. Stimuli filled every corner: lights, sounds, the susurrus of nurses were over-powering. Vaguely, I remember how daunting the stealth of the room was, by the pulsing of my heart, throbbing out of my chest, truly pulling on all its strings. Despite being surrounded by people from all walks of life, I was totally solitary. 

Sarah and I made the glance, apprehensively – in sync with each other almost blending in with the unnatural surroundings. My eyes welled up with streams of tears, like looking through shattered glass, unable to make sense of anything i saw. Beep… beep… beep the ghostly sound that kept his weak body fighting, whilst ours broke into a million pieces. Lifelessly, he laid there, off in his own world, a crazy place of nothing. His eyes were locked shut; we didn’t know when he’d wake up. 

Time was represented by his body, completely still. The only chain visible now, was the one connecting me to my brother. For so long we were unsure about everything, but in that moment, I could see as clear as day that we were all going to make it out. For the very first time, we were all powerfully hopeful.

By Ciara Watson