A code called.
She races
as the seas part
for her crossing.
Reposed before her–
rhythm without pulse,
fluid without flow,
substance without life–
is you.
Invaded
as lines in your thigh
penetrate a pump paralyzed,
as tube between ashen lips
thrusts into stagnant air.
Poison pushed into a heart
quivering, she watches as
your chest rises
with the force
of each counterfeit breath.
The symphony begins.
Thump
Shock delivered.
Strike through the breast.
Voltage down your limbs.
Buoyant, jerking,
Each retort
a life feigned by lightening.
Crunch
Bones crush.
The carol of ribs,
a surrender to the fury
of each compression,
quickens with her pounding heart.
Each chord
a dissonant harmony.
Glazed are your eyes
as they pulsate
with the cadence of their dance.
She looks at you.
Pleads for you to return.
Prays to the god she plays.
But your eyes plead for something more.
You leave her.
The story ends.
And the orchestra leaves.
• • •
◊ The Cardiac Arrest From a Patient’s Perspective ◊
• • •
Categories: All Poetry, Death & Loss, Medical Poetry, Medicine, Poetry by Phoebe
That was startling and painful. There’s so much to love in the writing of this poem but, man, the truth behind the words is really hard. I guess that’s what makes a good piece of writing, eh? Truth.
Reblogged this on Nocturnally Yours and commented:
To love and hate, I love your take. 😉
I understand your feelings about watching a patient die in front of you. I work in a field with hospice. My job is different in that I just hold their hands and help them go. There is a DNR order. I cannot by law , perform CPR on them.
You are in the position of working to revive them. Your job is to keep them here and my job is to watch them go.
It must be very hard for you when you are trying so hard to revive them and they pass anyway. My heart weeps for that situation and your anguish.
They were meant to go but that does not make it easier.
God bless your work and mine. We are both in heart aching but rewarding jobs. Some moments are precious and ones to treasure.
Namaste,
Annie
Hi Annie,
I have the highest respect for what you do. It takes a very special, compassionate, strong person to be able to work in that setting and to be able to be with those who are at the last moments of their lives. From your writing, I can tell that you care for your patients immensely, and that is such a beautiful thing. And it comforts my heart to know that people like you are out there, caring for those whom I can’t reach but who needs the most care.
I feel like we are really lucky. Like you said, it can be heartbreaking, but it’s also extremely rewarding. We live for those precious moments. 🙂
Take care,
phoebe