Tag: illness

The Patient.

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I met you my intern year. I remember the first thing you said to me.

“I don’t care to be here.”

With a countenance creased from decades of hardship, a gait staggered from illness, eyes steeled by sufferings, your restrained presence betrayed a sheath impervious. I believed you previously had poor experiences in similar settings, because you told me so. I knew you didn’t trust me, because you told me so.

Our first few visits were stippled with formality. I posed questions; you answered. But they weren’t your answers, but perhaps words you knew I wanted to hear. I half expected you to stop coming. But you never did. Instead, you continued to sit there, guarded, a portrait of cordiality and cautiousness. 

And then one day it happened.

Your hard gaze glimmering with moisture, I saw your shell break. I then got to know you. Little by little, visit by visit. I learned of the pain you endure. I learned of your frustrations, your desperation…your despair. I learned of your deep heart. I learned many things. But most importantly, I learned who you were.

Months went by. Gradually a smile seeped through. Your eyes now shined as you shared with me the latest on your life. A life that I was lucky enough to now be a part of. But suddenly three years pass, and as my time with the clinic comes to an end, we now must part. On your last visit, I sense your frustration and anguish again, and I think I understand why. As you cry I reassure you that everything will be okay. But as I comfort you I am struck by a sudden surge of emotion, and I also struggle to keep my composure.

You see, through this experience, I have started to recognize what it is you were talking about. An understanding. A connection. Some may even say a friendship. Because even though you may not know this, I am now happier because you are happier. Because you are now healthier, more satisfied. Full of life. 

Now as we part I feel the tearing of a piece of my soul. As we hug one last time the goodbye is silent and understood. But then you pull back, look me in the eyes, and say simply, “Thank you for helping me live.”

As I hold back my own tears, I realize I am thinking the same thing.

Thank you for helping me live.

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When We Simply Stop Caring.

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I see it all around me.

Burnout. To be burnt.

When we simply stop caring.

Most of the time we don’t even need
to say anything. But you know.
You hear it in our voice.
You see it in our eyes.
And you feel it too.
You know what
is going through our
mind with each wayward glance.

Is this what I signed up for?
Is this all this profession has to offer? 

Because I have seen the articles.
To prevent physician burnout.
The A-B-C’s.
Changes we must make.
Limiting expectations. 
Self-empowerment.
Decreased hours. 
Putting us first.

I too used to be desperate.

What is happening to me?
What is happening to my colleagues?
What is happening to medicine?

But then one day, I saw you.

You.

Not you the patient.
You the person.
You’re just
a person.
You are me.
And you are hurting.
And maybe I am too, although
you may never know.

So I thank you for being here.

Not only do I want you to know that
I honor the privilege of being able to
help you, but you should know that
you have in your own way
taken care of me.

And I do care for you.

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◊ A Physician’s Plea ◊

When the Heart Stops.

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

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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 ◊

•      •      •

 

I.C.U.

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Lines, tubes, wires, chains.
Dignity stripped, cavities drained.
The metronome of your pulse above
the beeping orchestra, dissonant buzz.
Each gesture tracked, beat recorded,
breathing measured, life distorted.
Do you still feel free?

The body, its function a masterpiece to muse,
altered by poison, fluid infused.
Vesicles, vessels, organs affixed,
shrouded in blood, lymph intermixed.
Adhered in oneness by tendon and skin,
scarcely quickened by a pump grown dim.
Do you still feel strong?

Risen before the dawning sun,
a swarm of stoic white has come
to declare the status of your issues–
Liver, kidney, heart, lung, tissue.
To examine and prod, inspect then move
a person, a soul, or a number to improve?
I hope you still feel human.

The Arrest.

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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

elderly woman

Malady.

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Desperation.
Driven by disease
more clever than our hands,
you elude our grasp.

Come back.

Poison,
fighting for the soul
courses through your veins,
while the dusk
consumes the mind
of your decay.

Do you hear me calling?

Forsaken by a beast deceiving,
your breaths remains unmarred.
Spared by fiendish mercy,
your heart beats
undisturbed beneath the curtain
of a vacant shell.

I know you hear me calling.
I know you’re still there.
Perhaps our love will bring you back.

Come back to us.

The Sleep.

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Rivulets of sorrow meandering
down tear-stained skin.
“Keep her comfortable
until it’s time.”   
Simple words-
echoes
of eternal reminder within.
You rise.

Guiding her
through the threshold
into the chill,
shudders
of realization emerge.
You survey
the molting trees,
their arid leaves
embellishing her hair
like fragments of
woven rhinestones.
As if they weep for her.
As if even the ambiances
of ages past are beseeching
her not to leave.

Soon arrives the Foehn,
holding you within
its warm embrace.
Its breaths,
whispering lines of truth,
sculpt a bittersweet tune
as they herald
the evening’s arrival.
You understand.

Cloaked
by lyrics of singing ivy,
her expression calms,
your fears dissolve.
Consoled by a draft possessive,
you cradle her
through the darkness
and follow her
toward the seraph’s call
into the fold of
midnight slumber.

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