Merry Christmas, all — said a day early, because I’ll be on 12-hour shifts for the next few days.
Christmas on the ward isn’t tinsel and goodwill. It’s the same incontinence, the same confusion, the same medical crises and endless paperwork — but with an extra layer of expectation. We’re meant to smile wider, hum carols, and wish Happy Christmas to people who have no idea what day it is.
So here’s a festive poem full of cheer…
…or not!
Festive Shift
same alarms,
different day.
same fluids,
festive hats.
same forms,
still signed in black.
someone’s fallen,
someone’s crying,
someone’s trying to die
politely.
paper crowns,
slipped IVs,
and “Merry Christmas, love”
through a mask.
the turkey’s still chewy.
the pudding’s not on fire.
the ward smells
of sprouts and gravy.
here we are,
the lost and
the forgotten,
counting down
the last few hours
to Christmas Day.
Merry Christmas.