Hospital sounds and smells.
My bride and three nurses
Surround me, comfort me.
Scrubs. Questions. Needles.
Surgeon arrives, fly unzipped.
It’s too awkward to tell him.
He marks the incision spot,
Reassures me, and departs.
I’m sleepy, drifting, dreamy.

Jolly discovery, that bulge below the belly… An inguinal hernia.

Likely earned in the saddle of a bike, pedaling upward on mountain roads, pursuing higher altitude, thinner air, and the fountain of youth. Might have had something to do with adrenaline and endorphins too.

And what better way to chronicle an inguinal hernia repair than a poem?!?!

The section above is an early swipe at the fifth section. It’s a good litmus test. (N.B. If you’re feeling squeamish, skip the rest of the poem. And don’t exert yourself!)