The last shred of modesty
I managed to preserve,
was safeguarded by the Johnny Shirt
covering my backside.
But in that short span of time,
it too was deposited in the hands of caregivers
as the price of admission,
and the casualty of convalescence.
Needing help to get to the bathroom
took away the illusion of independence.
Being driven by discomfort, nausea, and fear,
took the shield of invincibility.
And soiling myself,
removed the last vestige of embarrassment.
The hole I wanted to crawl into
was nowhere to be found.
After a lifetime of developing layers
of humility, constraint, and reserve,
dignity departed,
propriety plunged,
and pride plummeted.
It no longer mattered
that some stranger saw my private parts.
It no longer mattered
that others observed my bodily functions.
It no longer mattered
that someone smelled the odours emitted by my body.
It no longer mattered
that others heard my whiny,
pain-etched voice of impatience.
None of this mattered anymore.
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Oh Larry, I can empathize! Over the years, so many on my patients also lamented their loss of dignity—but far less eloquently. Once more you have nailed it.
I concur, so eloquently said
Thank you for sharing your vulnerability so vulnerably in this poem, Larry. I commend your courage and humility. This type of poetry is not for the faint of heart.
Larry…these latter years have necessitated letting go of social conventions and norms as we more and depend on others. Were these social rules really that necessary? Our dignity depends on who we are, how we treated others and the trust we developing with our loved ones and friends. These are the stuff that gives us
dignity!
Larry. All the above comments are spot on. Thank you for being you. and expressing what so many others experience everyday when confronted with recovering.
Sending blessings for continued healing
Robin and Norm