So on the day of the surgery, Jordan takes us through everything: the pre-operation bustle, the anesthesia, waking up afterwards, and final reflections. And in iambic pentameter, of all things...
New hope awakes and brings with it the dawn
As nurses mill around my little bed
With comforts soft before my skin is sawn
So that I will have no more need to dread.
Another takes my hand. I feel the pinch
Of pain's sharp entry in my hand, transgressed
By strangest fluids fast designed to cinch
My body deeply into sleep's congress.
In dreams I run as angels lead me forth,
Forever my Creator's grace will flow
Far as the Southern Cross to frozen North;
His love pursues me ev'rywhere I go.
Again I wake to strongest stinging light.
A weight within my mouth signals to me
That help I need to breathe on through tonight.
Perhaps from it tomorrow I'll be free.
For now, it is enough that I'm adorned
By strips protecting, watching o'er this scar
That serves as Ebenezer, proof I'm shorn
Of this debility God's flung afar.
Tomorrow's poem: "Home"