Are You OK? 

“Are you OK?” asked the nurse,
as machines hummed and lights glared.
The patient, yellow-tinged, weary,
lay silent while the world hurried around her —
fluids, paracetamol, antibiotics,
needles and scans,
the mystery of illness written in her blood.

And what of her husband?
Inside: fear, exhaustion, despair.
Outside: armour of calm,
the warrior,
the rock at her bedside.
Is he OK?

She is not ordinary —
if such a word belongs to anyone.
Her body a puzzle of conditions
that weave together
into fragility, into fight.
Is she OK?

Days blur into nights.
Corridors become home,
moved from ward to ward,
sleep fractured by monitors’ beeps,
by rubies of blood drawn,
by endless prodding,
by yet another scan.

The road ahead is shadowed.
In the distance — lights,
crossroads, choices,
each path uncertain in length,
in hardship, in hope.
“Are you OK?” becomes
“Do you feel better?”
and he prays the answer
will be “yes.”

Through it all,
the staff remain steadfast —
faces lined with pressure,
hands steady with care.
The couple, weary but grateful,
cling to that kindness,
a lifeline in the storm.