Thyroids in Seoul
When my wife had surgery
at the Severance Hospital, Seoul,
I was expected to be on hand
from admission to discharge.
And so I was, bedding each night on a hard
vinyl couch shorter than me, eating well
from her tray, enjoying the bathroom, city
view, handsome nurses;
each day reading in the new translation
of that huge classic, Les Miserables
(away from home, long nineteenth-century
novels are ideal);
admiring the thorough checking given her
before she was judged ready for the knife.
Which wasn't a knife at her lovely throat
but a tiny robot
at her left armpit cruising inwards up
next to the larynx under the control
of the surgical team at their separate
computer station.
I was outside in the family room
with nice Koreans watching Korean
names flicker across and down a big screen
uncomprehending.
Was one of those names hers? Ah, there she was in
English: LACK Marilyn - the B was excised.
Moved to the post-op room - with how much else
excised? I waited
near the swinging doors; soon they wheeled her out
and we traipsed back to her room and bed.
Excised? one half of the thyroid, and from
four parathyroids
just the suspect one. Surgeon and team
swung by each day to answer questions
in perfect English with brisk sympathy.
Feeling better? Yes.
Voice coming back? Yes. And no scar on throat!
That's the beauty of surgery this way.
But from armpit up was sore long after.
And voice not strong yet.
Moved back to our room in the old Hilton
down the road, we were mere tourists at folk
villages, the zoo, palaces. Hugo
I finished - epic!
And her voice? restored? Not quite even now,
months later, back home, reunited with
the barking Labbies, in Melbourne where
throats are still being cut.
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