Anakana Schofield

A poem today for parents of children having surgery and one dear friend, in particular. We are thinking of you. I think you’re partial to the odd blast of RLS. Courage! xx

The Sick Child
by Robert Louis Stevenson 
CHILD.
O Mother, lay your hand on my brow!
O mother, mother, where am I now?
Why is the room so gaunt and great?
Why am I lying awake so late?

MOTHER.
Fear not at all: the night is still.
Nothing is here that means you ill -
Nothing but lamps the whole town through,
And never a child awake but you.

CHILD.
Mother, mother, speak low in my ear,
Some of the things are so great and near,
Some are so small and far away,
I have a fear that I cannot say,
What have I done, and what do I fear,
And why are you crying, mother dear?

MOTHER.
Out in the city, sounds begin
Thank the kind God, the carts come in!
An hour or two more, and God is so kind,
The day shall be blue in the window-blind,
Then shall my child go sweetly asleep,
And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep.

Posted on March 22, 2010
Posted in Literature

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  • Madame Beespeaker says:

    We have been there and my advice for your friend is don’t be afraid to speak up and ask for more pain killers. Sometimes they are under-prescribed in children. Even if you have to bother the doctor on call by phone. Don’t be afraid to advocate for a comfortable recovery and if there are any problems bug that specialist. Don’t be afraid to do it. Being on call is part of their job.

    Someone gave me that advice for when I was recovering from giving birth and it was spot on as well.

    March 22nd, 2010 at 10:56 pm
  • Sara says:

    Thanks, AK. Let’s just not do this ever again, okay?

    March 24th, 2010 at 3:36 am
  • mrsokana says:

    Never, agreed. We are OR slate-proof. All organs associated with those near and dear have been informed.

    March 26th, 2010 at 4:26 am

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