Category Archives: Health

PIP Implant Scandal, A Mess.

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PIP Implant Scandal, A Mess.

PIP implant scandal,
did affect me.
Both were ruptured,
silicon ran free.
My health, fractured,
suffering and pain
which alas,
no one could explain.

Questions asked,
went higher and higher,
then they made you feel,
like a pariah.
It became newsworthy
helping the cause.
PIP campaign women
earned my applause.

Interviews given,
hearing many a story,
hoping they would help
not looking for glory.

Many women, still need advice and aid,
only a little, is coming their way.
Toxic implants as they degrade,
really must, be taken away.

This must never happen again
causing so much pain,
causing so much heartache,
from a company, that was a fake.

PIP implant scandal,
caused so much stress,
so never again,
should we suffer,
such a mess.

©Carol Robson 2014

both implantsThese were my PIP Implants removed May 2012

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Debris. (Video)

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Debris (Video)

Poem about a woman who through drug and alcohol addiction finishes up sleeping rough on the streets. Societies reaction.

©Carol Robson 2014

My NHS (with video)

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My NHS YouTube video

My NHS

I loved my NHS

a child of the early days

growing old with it

but I fear I’m losing it

like me, it is falling apart.

Left on a gurney

no one takes care

my cries unheeded

staff diluted

just like their gravy.

Will I wait for family

just to give me food

to turn me over

to wipe my arse

because there is

no paperwork

to cover this.

 

I see the day

hospitals in crisis

having their own

‘JustGiving ‘ page

or this ward is sponsored

by Nandos or KFC.

Oh well!

No operation for me.

No treatment for me.

You see

I’m of no value

I’m Sixty Five.

© Carol Robson 2013

Who Am I?

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Who Am I?

 

I know something is wrong,

getting forgetful, losing stuff.

Little things at first, but soon,

I recognise that this is not right.

I sit here, my favourite chair,

most days – long days I think.

 

No recognition;

who is this man who brings me another cuppa? 

He seems to do so much for me, these days,

he isn’t my dad.

Dad has lots of hair, I remember so curly,

can’t be my dad.

Keep hearing people saying;

SHAME and she is only 53.

 

Good days, I remember Tom,

this man who is always here.

I think we are married,

third finger left hand a ring. 

He’s a good man, I think!

 

Takes me to see the Doc for my check-up;

I think he’s a Doc.

Listening thingy hanging from his neck,

wants to listen to my chest.

Doc blows on it, making it warm,

listening thingy not my chest.

Doc speaks to the man with me,

hey-up I’m here, not invisible,

feels like I’m being ignored, not a child,

even if childhood seems like yesterday.

 

Hours just watching the moving pictures

on the box in the corner of the room

Coronation St always a favourite,

where is Elsie Tanner? 

 

Young man, a woman, a little boy visit,

most weekends, I think. 

Vague memories, then lucidity,

he is my son, boy my grandson I’m told,

he makes me laugh and smile,

good days, happy days. 

Bad days; this boy taps my head,

anyone at home he asks,

 bad times I want to spank the little sod,

my dad would.

 

Drifting in and out of time,

this man Ted, Tom or is it Tim?

Does so much, he looks tired, I’m tired,

but I’m bloody angry, frustrated.

This man holds my wrists,

I’m so angry, I’m crying, why me?

I know I love him, then he is a stranger,

where are my Mum and Dad?

Their little girl needs them,

angry, frustrated!

 

I’m lonely in this place full of people. 

Another home, no memories,

just a crowd of blank faces,

just like mine in the mirror. 

Who am I?

© 2014 Carol Robson

 

Loneliness and Isolation

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This is a poem I wrote early last year and seems relevant to this BBC News article on older age loneliness. http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-politics-24572231

Loneliness and Isolation

You gazed through your window
watching the world passing by
sadly this was not your world
as you gazed from your void.

Your years so full of family and friends
now seemed such a distant memory
a memory that became far less vivid
only framed memories were your companions.

You didn’t want to bother your family
they didn’t seem to listen, always so busy
just a phone call would have brightened your day
taken you out, have a treat, just a visit, please.

A few hours a week your visitors appeared
a cleaner and a person with your meals
quickly gone with barely a word or smile
again long hours devoid of any other presence.

Hours, days and weeks seemed to merge into one
broken by those fleeting visitors into your prison
a prison with a view to a world that was no longer yours
a life on your own, should never have been endured.

Now family and friends are here for you
talking of bygone days, relived memories
your loneliness and isolation is now over
sadly, it took your passing to bring them here.
© Carol Robson 2012