DR. POET DOES A RUNNER

26-09-2007

Stirrer blogger Dr David Nicholl is after your cash. He's doing the Great North Run this weekend, and once you've read why, we're sure you'll want to put your hand in your pocket. Blimey, even The Stirrer's pledged £20.

Four years ago this week was a pretty lousy time for our family. My father-in-law ('Dai') had collapsed from a brain haemorrhage and was dying in a coma.

Two strange things happened that week on intensive care that changed my life, largely through my intense frustration at being unable to do anything to improve an awful situation.

First of all, as I sat on the sofa in the relative's room with my shell-shocked family- the TV was on in the background with the Great North Run and all the amazing people who were running for a loved one to raise money for charity.

I knew then I wanted to be there, with the 50,000 or so nutters in fancy dress and the odd athlete in Newcastle. Being on the starting line there would be so much more positive than grieving about my father-in-law on a miserable anniversary.

Since then I've done Great North Runs for Shelter, Brain and Spine Foundation, and this year, I'm running with my wife for the Bishop Simeon Trust.

The Great North Run is a fantastic experience, I tend to think of it more as an 'activists' convention' rather than a half-marathon as there are literally thousands of people there who have decided not just to stand up, but run up, and try and make a difference. They raise millions of pounds for dozens of charities.

The second thing that happened that week was the first and only time in my life I have sat down and written a poem. I am so used to being on intensive care in a work capacity, usually to tell some family that their relative isn't going to make it. It seemed somewhat surreal for the roles to be reversed.

Poetry from the ITU sofa

The Lounge

Was it his lunch or his tea?

The thawing meal in the microwave I see

The dog stares nonchalantly at me, for I am not her owner

The Sunday papers lie half-read in the corner

A story of an unsolved murder was the last thing he read

Before the fatal moment when he hit his head

His world ended but the memories remain

Our world will never be the same

I cursed him when he lost his glasses...AGAIN!

Now how I yearn to hear that refrain

The lounge however ignores my request

For another rendition of Dai at his best.

Brainstem limboland

Brainstem dead the doctor said

But is he living, or is he dead?

He looks so fresh and strong, alive and living.

His pulse is sixty, maybe he's dreaming?

But this is a surreal dream, where we speak to him,

Yet call the undertaker while he is still breathing.

Or is it breathing? A mechanically assisted ventilation

With everything measured, except our constant perspiration.

This is brainstem limboland, where we measure it all

FiO2, abg and electrolytes, but measure a life? That is a tough call.

Tush tee

'Tush tee', we watch his chest rise and fall

He is no longer for a cardiac arrest call

'Tush tee' the ventilator makes its regular sigh

We all know the end is nigh

'Krrrrr', the saline drip pump churns around

His life is nearly over, as I stare at the ground.

'Krrrrr' another 5 mls are flushed into his thirsty frame

As his family, we are the players in a horrid game

'Beep beep' his pulse is a steady sixty three

but how many beats are left ' til he ceases to be?

Anyhow if you think these poetic efforts are any good (or frankly even if you don't!), I don't want your gratitude, I want your cash to raise money for the Bishop Simeon Trust.

It seems somehow fitting to finish this month raising money for the disadvantaged in South Africa having kicked up a fuss at the beginning of this month by recalling one of its most famous sons, Steve Biko.