A letter to my doctors Footnote 1

I was born premature, 4 months early.

You intubated me,

put me on a ventilator,

because You could.

My lungs were weak.

You gave me surfactant

and waited for them to grow,

because You could.

My lungs grew, but not enough,

You gave me a tracheostomy

and a portable ventilator,

because You could

My head was getting bigger,

“excess fluid build-up” the nurse said.

You put a shunt in,

because You could.

My swallow was unsafe,

“an aspiration risk”.

You gave me a gastrostomy,

because You could.

My lungs got worse,

You started me on steroids,

“a dose for a horse”,

because You could.

My shunt got infected,

I started to seize.

You tried to stop me.

You thought You could.

It went on for days

My parents said STOP.

The last straw.

They finally could.

Lo and behold,

To have never gone home,

To my room,

To my bed,

To my dog.

If You had known what my future held,

Would you listen to me on day one?

Would You stop?

Would You listen to me if I could talk?

Or would You do it all again

because I couldn't?