CITY VOICES
FIRST PERSON
POETRY TOWN
A trip to the hospital for an Upper GI
RICHARD H. FOX
JOE FUSCO JR.
I
Mom observes me. I stand by the hospital bed, its iron bars, pliable plane, plastic pad. Her eye opens wide, sunlit iris livid.
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WORCESTERMAGAZINE.COM
J A N U A RY 14 - 20, 2021
was having some stomach issues, so my primary doctor ordered an Upper GI.
A couple of days before the procedure, I had to spit in a tube at the drive-through COVID-19 test-site. It was negative and unsightly. Because I had the foresight to wear pajama-shorts, I could keep my pants on under the backward-johnny as they prepped me for the procedure. My nurse was wonderful and gave me an extra pair of those sticky socks they force you to put on. From my bed, I noticed a pantry area where a medical worker was gulping what seemed to be a 2-Liter bottle of Red Bull. It was a tad disconcerting. My doctor had a British accent and wore a New England Patriots surgery cap. I mentioned that I was a die-hard New York Giants fan and felt a little uneasy but my wonderful nurse, apparently another staunch Patriots fan, suggested I keep my loyalties to myself while she finished sticking the intravenous needle in my vein. Next thing I remember, there are 11 people in surgery-caps lifting me onto an operating table and Dr. Belichick is telling me the endoscope will peek inside my stomach and small intestine.
‘Leaf Shudder’
I rub her shoulder. She leans into my fingers, relaxes. I trumpet Love you, Mom! Her lips unlock, creak Love you. First phrase in a week.
Next thing I remember, there are 11 people in surgery-caps lifting me onto an operating table and Dr. Belichick is telling me the endoscope will peek inside my stomach and small intestine. Next thing I remember, I’m awake in recovery and the same doctor is telling me they removed three polyps that looked benign and a bunch of other stuff I quickly forgot because I’m old, he has a strong accent, and I’m still kind of sedated. My son-in-law drove me home where I slept almost three hours. I dreamt that a good friend and a beautiful blonde woman scammed Donald Trump in a speed-boat race. I was a minor character fishing nearby on the dock. My wife called to ask me how it went and I told her I didn’t really know but three polyps were no
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She folds into a pillow. Face, a caricature. I stop rubbing, squeeze, resume. She locks her eye on mine. The grey, flecked with blue, shines.
longer on the premises and we were having trout for dinner. I turned on the T.V. and hummed the theme song to “Grey’s Anatomy.”
Mom, it’s ok if you go. We take care of each other. Dad’s waited long enough for you. A millimeter nod? A mirage? Her eyelid sunsets.
Joe Fusco Jr. is a poet and humorist living in Worcester.
Richard H. Fox is a Worcester-based poet whose work includes the fulllength collection, “You’re my favorite horse” and the chapbook, “The Complete Uncle Louie Poems.”
