Pain and trauma and no reason to sing;
Their reek of blood and pungent antibiotics
Tablets, syrups and antiseptics!
Tell me of the joy of a mother
And I would tell you the pain of a widowed father;
Tell me about handsome doctors and pretty nurses
And I would tell you about quacks and abortionists.
Tell me about them that do there get well
And about nosocomial diseases, I would tell
I hate hospitals and all their deals;
Fractured bones, ruptured spleens…
Doctors prescribing drugs before tests,
Nurses treating the old like house pests,
Ambulances and their shrill sirens,
Their stretchers and wardens…
Friendly faces, yet willing to stick me,
“All will be good” yet they prick me.
They want some blood, some urine and some ‘shit’.
Now, they want to feel my body’s heat!
Leave me alone, I want no medication
Your nasty drugs with strict prescriptions
Oh, I wish I could throw up on their faces
And be listed with their difficult cases.
So now I must eat healthy, drink less beer
All because of my ‘hospiphobia’!
Written by: Kelechi Kemnele
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.