Andrew Wain

Andrew was diagnosed with leukaemia when he was 14 and wrote this poem as a way of expressing how he felt about having an anaesthetic.

Anaesthetic

Anaesthetic, you are like a poison to my blood,
You enter through my line, stinging as you go.
When you reach my brain,
I feel myself slipping away,
Then with a huge powerful might, with the sound
of a jet engine getting louder and louder.
Silent, I lie there motionless,
While the doctors do their work.
I awaken, to the sounds of my pulse being
Played back through a machine,
A sickly taste in my mouth makes me feel sick,
I open my eyes to see my Mum, and I know
Everything is going to be OK.
Much as I hate it, I need the anaesthetic to take
Away the pain.
I wouldn’t want them doing it while I was awake.