When I was five I rode
My tricycle to the hospital
To have my tonsils removed.
My mother walked with me,
Carrying a small bag.
She would sleep on a cot
Listening for the sound of blood.
I liked to ride my tricycle
So far from home and liked Dr.
Charles,
A solemn, taciturn man, who had
been
Overseas and seen men die
untended
And knew what needed to be done.
Full of ether, I slept all night;
But the next day, my throat hurt
So much I longed to die,
Turning my head to the wall
When Miss Myrtle, our dearest
Friend and neighbor, came to
drive
Us home, carrying a melting pint
of
Vanilla ice cream.
[Poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann, written in October of 1994. Photo via State Records NSW.]
