Tiny hands

I came a little early,
To a world so foreign to me,
The whooshing sounds of blood and my mama’s heart beat has ceased,
Replaced by beeping noises from the ventilator and monitors,
Sounds of scurrying feet of nurses and doctors,
Little did I know, within a second, a tube was put into me
I was told I was unable to breathe,
I felt pricks from needles on my hands and feet,
I was told, I was unable to feed
It felt uncomfortable, but I could not speak,
It was painful but I could not wince
I yearned for solace,
In nothing I could seek.
I soon felt a hand touch me,
She whispered, don’t be afraid, mama is here.
She held my tiny hands and said a prayer,
A prayer that I would not suffer.
A doctor came over and spoke to my mother.
She smiled and then she cried.
She stroke my head and lied,
“ You will be alright”
My chest tightened,
Then, my umbilical cord was cut and a long tube was put through
A urine catheter was put on me
My head was hurting,
But no one seemed to understand,
I was in pain,
But oblivious to those around me.
Soon, I felt fingers pushing against my chest
Sounds of feet scurrying,
Voices shouting,
All I could say is, I’m suffering.
A nurse shouted “she’s back!”
Until when? That’s all I checked.
My tiny hands held me tight,
I wondered,
“Keep a good fight?”
“What is right?”