Adrenaline

All those morning rituals interrupted
By a foreign feeling deep within
Something never before experienced
The only pulse I’m used to feeling is
The jackhammer in my chest
When our eyes lock
But this,
This is something new
My fingers tingle
And what I can only describe as static
Races right through me
How the hell did this happen?
I think I’m travelling back through time
I can see the fountain at the church
And hear the bells of Saint Mel’s ringing
Blonde hair, blue eyes, blue school uniform
Nothing but blue skies, do I see?
There’s a disjointed rhythm playing
1 2 3 4 3 2 1
And crash
I’m back on the kitchen floor
Can this be real?
I see you standing before me
I know you’re shouting but I can’t hear
Can someone please move this car that’s parked on my chest?
I don’t even register the paramedics’ arrival or the sirens
Is this what a crash team looks like?
Then, just like it does in all those movies
Everything
Fades
To black…
I come to – hooked up to a monitor
There’s a steady beeping in this tiny room
And there you are slumped next to me
In a back-breaking plastic chair
With your head down on the bed
And a hand slipped into mine
Touching gently, not allowing me to slip away
’Cause you told me before
I’m not allowed to leave you – not ever
When the young trainee comes in
He checks the monitor and my chart
This wakes you
And you smile happily when you see me with some colour in my face
“Someone will be with you shortly,” the trainee says with a stony look and leaves
Leaving us to wonder what comes next
And your smile quickly turns to distress
I’m in limbo now
I feel okay, but uncomfortably numb
Like so many others this day, we’re now left
Waiting for the news
And more than an hour passes by
In hospital time
If you don’t already know
It’s a lifetime to some – an eternity to others
In that time I’ve done a mental inspection of my body
I haven’t been operated on (thank god!)
Then the doc breezes in
His white coat flowing like Superman’s cape
Chart in hand and just as stony-faced as his colleague
He’s got just one sentence for me before he goes
He says: “Darragh, cut back on the coffee!”

Darragh Coady is an Irish composer of gritty poems with an occasional social conscience. His poetry has appeared in The Frogmore Papers, Book of Matches, and Void Magazine. He has also written for Poetry as Commemoration and performed as the featured act at Culture Rapide in Paris where his set was described as “Volcanic.”