White Stockings

So, here I am. Ready to go in the white stockings, again.

They are designed to stop blood clots and are very tight, each pair put on carefully measured legs.
The gown with ties at the back next, then onto the bed, and the hand with the needle taped on and the rush of faces around me as I lie here.

Here is where fear can grow, unbidden, unwanted.

The countdown will come soon.
But, although I am afraid of the operation and the pain that follows, I have something that keeps it at bay. It is what keeps me calm and at peace at this very moment.
I think of what would happen if I don’t wake up here.

I would wake up to see your face, so there is nothing to fear.

I ask the surgeons if it is okay to pray for them. They seem happy that I do and, at that moment, I feel totally at peace.
I know this is in your hands, that it will be okay, that I can trust you.

The countdown starts.
‘Be with me Lord’ I cry, and then I feel the darkness gently creep in.
Into a place of dreams and hope.

Into your hands, Lord.



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