Conquering the Waves
Margaret V.Doran
How can I describe
a screaming ambulance ride
sitting in the jumpseat in the box
back to the front and vice-versa
Lights, sirens, air horns
all roaring full blast
carreening nineteen (count them!)
miles uphill
along a winding, crooked road
Swaying side to side
jolted by the uneven surface
even the adrenelin rush was not enough
to keep me from feeling sick
Because I was just three months pregnant
and able to toss my cookies
at even the slightest provocation
suffering, as it were, from
terminal nausea
And this? This was just TOO MUCH!
Catapulting bassackwards
toward a destination
I could not even see
And did I mention HOT?
It was the middle of summer
and I had been impressed into service
directly from the comfort of my
air-conditioned office
So I began some deep breathing exercises
to calm my simmering stomach
and the other medics looked at me sideways
but didn’t say a word
Good thing, too, for in my condition
(They didn’t know I was expecting)
no telling what might have come out
if I had had to open my mouth
But, deep breathing in that heat,
I started to hyper-ventilate
so to add to my distress,
I found myself dizzy and
my fingers were tingling as well
Clutching wildly at the edges of the seat
I began a rapid visual search
for the whereabouts of the stash of
barf bags for the patients
I felt sure I was on the verge of
total self-humiliation
when a "Code 4" drifted out of the radio
and instantly the noise and speed subsided
Not so, however, my tummy
as I smiled weakly at my companions
and nodded my assent that I, too,
was glad all was well
The ride back was much less distressing
and gave my churning cauldron
long minutes to regain control.
With my feet back on solid ground,
I gulped in great draughts of fresh air
Determined that, in the future,
I would tell them I was pregnant
and demand a front seat
in order to preserve my Dignity
Copyright © 1997 Margaret V. Doran.
All rights reserved.
If you enjoyed this poem, please send her an e-mail here.
Updated July 1, 1999
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