A short story written today on my 64th birthday dedicated to my Doctor and friend, Doctor Manuel Cobo Dols, and to all those who have congratulated me today.  

After the battle..written today my 64th year,still alive and kicking thanks to the Lord.
From my book of short stories, to all those friends who greeted me today, my 64th birthday, and indeed to the the Doctor mainly responsible that I am still alive and kicking after 14 years.Dr.Manuel Cobo Dols the man with the biggest heart I have ever had the good fortune to meet. This is dedicated to you all I wrote it today, it´s a true story: After the battle
When he awoke he was in a dark place that he did not recognise. He felt strange and in some discomfort. His head was heavy and his mouth dry and tasted of metal. Two women were washing his neck and his chest. They lifted him, bodily, to change the soiled sheets. Metal equipment and machines with small lights and screens whirred silently around him .The women were businesslike but ever so gentle as they swabbed him he felt better, refreshed. He asked questions, how long and was it ok now? They just continued, humored him said things and laughed gently. They got close to his instruments with their swabs, he protested. He had been brought up to be private. His inner strength was in his morality, inner strength like Uriah Heap, although Uriah was an immoral man. But they had just cut open his body, where was his morality then? He had not been there, they could have done anything. But now, was he raving? Strange thoughts. The women laughed and agreed to go no further. Another girl appeared at the foot of the bed, she started to wash his feet, thoroughly, a toe at a time. No one had ever washed his toes he thought, it was really something, and it made him feel fine. She was really pretty, blond wavy hair caught in a white headdress of sorts, like a Quaker, a beautiful Quaker. She spoke sweetly and laughed as she worked. As she reached the top of his thighs he begged her to stop as vehemently as he was able to, he protested, which was really feeble and weak. He cared for her! It was her he was worried for, for her in her sweet beauty having to touch the secret parts of his wounded body. She laughed as she took him, ever so gently in her hands and washed the private parts of his physical being. It was to him an act of total compassion and he felt so wonderful so clean and washed. She was the last thing he saw until he woke in his hospital bed. He was told that he had been on the table for five hours and that he had been sleeping for ten hours after intensive care where he had been washed after the op.
When he left the hospital he bought gifts for all the nurses, and something very special for Alicia, He knew her name somehow. He wanted to meet her but she was never available or always off duty. He left her gift with the other nurses, to give to her. He never knew if they kept the gift as they were unable to give it to this person none of them really knew, but whom so many wounded men had spoken of over the years in the hospital.


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  • #1

    paul (Saturday, 04 March 2017 23:33)