Surgeon owns knife, God owns surgery time

No one in the team had a trance of a long operation hour;
We started well with sharp eyes and minds of vigour.
The zero point five percent mercain worked like magic;
Saint-looking instruments were set, we tuned on a music.

Laid on Op-table in supine pose, was disinfected,
Drapings were applied, leaving out an opened Op-field.
Holy plea was made in silence from within
As the surgeon tested for adequate analgesia action.

Knife on skin, deepened down to the fascia,
With much adhesions to battle – this war is not partial.
The peritoneum greeted us with bowels in a clear fluid-
The loop of bowels were abdo packed off target field.

Down deep lay the womb, and we went for it;
As we fought for space of view, we relax not a bit.
The about five months gravid surgeon persevered,
As I pulled the womb upward with a traction unhindered.

With traction, the surgeon strove to get below:
The vaginal vault – clamped then cut – we went low.
Bleeders we battled, as we ligate bleeding pipes.
Into surgery, we were one-eighty minutes.

Adventurous soul never knows when it’s night
So fixed to its mission is a heart in search for light.
We yanked off the baby house, to salvage the houselord:
Forthwith, she is freed from a two-year issue of blood.

Meshackcole M.D


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