consenting number 3



“I’m off to consent Number three”

Said the midwife on the busy ward.

Checking her watch, she marched away.


More checks on her arrival, in Number Three,

A monitor thumped, a machine beeped

And the midwife noted it all down.


A man sat in the corner, of Number Three.

Looking lost, worried and bored.

The midwife smiled at him.


“I’m just going to see where you are at”

The midwife said, to no one in particular.

As she snapped on the latex gloves.


A groan rolled around room Number Three.

A low, primal, sound that was ignored.

“Time to get things moving along” was announced.


The man blinked in the corner of Number Three

As the midwife suggested it was time for surgery.

The source of the groan muttered.


The midwife and the man looked, at the woman in Number Three.

She was saying ‘I do not want surgery’ between groans.

“of course you do dear, you want the best for your baby”


The man nodded, as he stepped over to the woman in Number Three.

‘I just need more time’ whispered the woman.

As she was patted and soothed condescendingly.


A doctor came presently to assist in consenting  Number Three,

To get the ball rolling, to explain the reasoning

Interrupted and confused, the woman seemed to agree.


The trouble with consent

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