Written by Susan Lane

The Tired Old Lady

I look in the mirror and what do I see?
That old lady, she’s looking at me
All tired and dishevelled, it’s a hard life you see
Having played his hero, gradually, since about 2013
Gave up work, now paid for 35 hours a week
And about £2 an hour, almost up crap creak
Made sure, he got to every appointment you see
Even though his outlook was not great

Got familiar with doctors, dentists
Hospitals of various types too
With Darent Valley, Queen Mary’s 
And Kings, the chiropodist also in the mix
For diabetes, eyesight, liver, kidneys and feet
Everything made even more unpleasant
In the excessive heat
With blood tests of various sorts,
MRIs and everything in between,
I’m sure you can picture the scene,
I didn’t know there was such a long list 
There was lots of treatment everywhere
I’m sure you get the gist

Going out anywhere was in itself quite a big chore
Nothing left to chance that could be planned for
Emergency bag packed, with spare clothes and wipes
The electric wheelchair has been on charge overnight
Then off we go out again visiting the hospital
Then maybe to Bluewater, there’s no refrain
It doesn’t really matter as a carer you see, it’s all the same,
When you’re paid for Monday to Friday every week
That’s all, life is quite bleak,
Even though he wondered if his life was nearly spent

The Lady and the Wheelchair

From the car for yet another week
I unload the wheelchair
What a marvellous bit of kit
His legs had gotten so tired they didn’t work 
But with that wheelchair he could get on quite a spurt
He definitely couldn’t walk any distance without
And he was determined you see
He wouldn’t have something small
Like an easily manageable scooter for mobility
Oh no, that’s for old people you see

But as any carer knows, it doesn’t end there
Because in the middle of the night
There’s another agenda you see,
Cos they’re so tired
From all the poking and prodding
Everywhere you can and can’t see
The exhaustion, it took its toll
Oh my god now they need the toilet and a bowl

Monday to Sunday, night and day, 
All the house lights on, television at play
From 2 am the kettle and the washing machine
Are beginning again
You’re on call but this, as any carer will know
All evenings and weekends you’re not paid for
So, everything just trundles along
Week in week out you both join the hospital throng
Until that fate decides to play
And they go into Darent Valley Hospital
Never to be seen again

That poor old lady sure misses her man every day!

© Susan Lane. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the author.

ColourMine poetry, and the original photographs, are completely authentic to myself, Susan Lane – no AI, no plagiarism, all checked and verified by copyleaks

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More poems written by Susan Lane, and you can choose by category

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