Departure.

Liberated
into the haven
of a mausoleum
lies a dove deceived-
its tattered pinions
a reminder of
a pledge riven,
a reverie tainted,

an innocence
betrayed.

Save her.
Let the shadows
of her present
console with
saccharine lies,
warm her with
tinned caresses
of boughs
freshly severed-
a revival of 
splintered promises 
of a new day–
as verdant hues
decay to dust.

To Let Go.

Despair.

Asphyxiated by the device
meant to grant you life

you pleaded to be released.

Lines running
through your veins
fighting to give you strength-

they only imprisoned you.

You-
always present
aware of the
commotion about you.

Bustling nurses
weeping children

through it all
your eyes were
locked onto mine.

“Help me let go” was your plea.

You grabbed my hand
shook your head

as if you knew this act
had been playing
long enough.

As if someone had
interrupted your journey
toward the place

you were meant to go.

So we released you.
Withdrew your tube
diminished your drips.

Severed the chains that bound you.

We comforted you.

You turned
toward your children.

Through a surge of strength
you assured them

it would be okay-
that through your going on
they would go on.

Then you turned back to me.

Though undeserving
of your last moments

you entrusted them to me.
You held my hand
held my gaze.

“Thank you,” was what you said.

And then you took your last breath.

And let us go.

 •       •       •

This patient has been in my heart lately. This post is a re-sharing of an account of our last encounter. A gentle reminder to treasure each moment given. 

 •       •       •

The Background Story

Tomorrow.

Cheer that blossomed within our hearts,
stirred by your presence at each day’s start,
yearns to wilt when you depart.
But our song will sing again, tomorrow.

The smiles that pierced through saddened guise,
the rays which conquered thundered skies,
they ache to dim neath heaven’s cries.
But the sun will rise again, tomorrow.

For many years our lives you blessed,
but the hour has come for you to rest,
to soar upon hills on golden crest.
So have no fear, tomorrow.

For on that day, I know we shall meet again.

Dedicated to Pam, in memory of Sammy ♥

I’m Sorry I Couldn’t Do More.

You took your life.

I’m sorry I was only
fifteen feet away.

The doctors were only fifteen feet away.

You didn’t know this.
But I spent days and nights
next door to where you decided
to end your life. Where the doctors
gather, pondering over differentials…
treatments…dissecting our every move
to ensure that we are doing the
right thing for you.

The right thing…

If I had known you,
I would have fought for you.
I know you weren’t my patient;
I know we had never even met.
I am just the person who found
you. Who pronounced you.
You were already cold,
but still, I placed the
stethoscope against
your chest and
listened.

I didn’t hear anything.

Did you hear me as
I wept for you?

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry
you were suffering.

I’m sorry you felt
as if
you had
no way out.

I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. 

This is a reflection over an event that happened during residency.
An event I still think about at times. 
A lingering guilt.

The Drowning.

Anguish
as waters frosted by twilight
weigh upon gossamer wings.
Deceived by a thirst unquenched,
I descend upon a reflection,
sinking into myself.

Imprisoned
within bitter tides,

I reminisce of a life relinquished–
where pinions sway unfettered
above blossoms coaxed by spring,
flittering from bud to bloom,
each bead of nectar
a fragrant haven.

Peering above to
heavens turned black,

tapestries of stars taunt
as they unbraid before me.
Below bitter waters,
shadows enshrined
whisper silently,
beckoning.

By the lure of
exhaustion

I succumb
to the abyss’
waiting embrace,

the warmth within now
a quivering of a fading flame.

I enter into the void.

When the Heart Stops.

A cardiac arrest. A resuscitation made. A life recovered.
One patient tells me his experience.
This is his story.

Death.
Amid the chaos enclosing,
beseeched by an ambiance of ages to come,
I hear the seraph’s dulcet calls.
Immured by words 
divine and bittersweet,
they sculpt the frigid air,
and I am comforted.
As flesh is pierced, poisons forced,
I am held in tender embrace–
its whispers an oasis to the fears
that boil within my breast.

A skyward calling, its promised hope
glistens the starlight above me.
Memories, regret, longings and dreams–
a cycle ripened to revolve anew
cascades within my being.
I then behold a fleeting sight–
a son, wife, a father, my life–
their love commanding,
gazes imploring.

Therefore
with a strength untold

I fight
until with the sun
I am ushered
out of the grasp
of the ebbing eve.

I open my eyes.

 

•      •      •

◊ The Cardiac Arrest – A Physician’s Perspective ◊

•      •      •

 

The Arrest.

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 ◊

•      •      •

The arrest

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