Tag: Medicine

The Flawed Physician.

She stands facing a closed door.

Your door.

As her gazeΒ converges onto
enameled surface, she notes its
texture-Β theΒ evenness a comfortΒ to
a moment of hesitation within.

Smooth and finished–flowing
imprints mappingΒ the course of
fine fibersΒ swept over timber.

Flawless.

She makes a move to knock,
but her hand pauses,
and for a moment she wonders
whether you will find her pleasant.

Whether she will be worthy of your trust.
Whether you will believe in her.

Because she is flawed.

Like veneer upon wooden door, she
is but a polished version of herself.

As she again surveys itsΒ exterior,
she is let in upon a different truth–
that from underneathΒ the surface
the grain peeks through,Β coarse
and jagged, its valleys exposed,
blemish revealed, age betrayed.
It is but freshΒ lacquer upon a
damagedΒ interior, eroded and
frayed byΒ the stress of time.

Like a white coat to the skin,
it cloaksΒ the imperfection
andΒ vulnerabilityΒ of that
which lies beneath.

A coatΒ enshrouding
scars of personalΒ defeats–
An awareness
of critical introspectionΒ while
striving to exhibit confidence and certainty.
A struggle
to remain objectiveΒ while
craving to empathize withΒ you.
A hunger
to continue feelingΒ through perpetual
immersion into death and suffering,
whileΒ self-preservation casts increasingly

impenetrable layers of emotional shield.
AndΒ aΒ fear
of not doing enough,Β while similarly
recognizingΒ the peril of doing too much.

But as herΒ knuckles meet the door,
sheΒ is reminded of anΒ oath–taken
atΒ the dawn of this journey–
an oath of compassion,Β of
integrity,Β ofΒ humility–

an oath to do no harm.

So as she enters
your room,

she smiles–
for she never forgot its
concluding admonition:

That oneΒ would neverΒ lose the joyΒ ofΒ helping others.

ThereforeΒ as an imperfect human being,
she will do herΒ best to ease your suffering,
treat your illness, be your advocate–
Not because it is herΒ obligation,
but because this is herΒ love–

To help herΒ fellow man.

To care for you.

β€’ Β  Β  Β β€’ Β  Β  Β β€’

β€œβ€¦may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.”

-Oath of Hippocrates

β€’ Β  Β  Β β€’ Β  Β  Β β€’

caduceus

When the Heart Stops.

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

β€’

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.

 

β€’      β€’      β€’

β—Š The Cardiac Arrest – A Physician’s Perspective β—Š

β€’      β€’      β€’

 

I.C.U.

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

TheΒ body, its function a masterpiece to muse,
altered by poison, fluidΒ infused.
Vesicles, vessels, organs affixed,
shroudedΒ in blood, lymph intermixed.
Adhered inΒ onenessΒ by tendon and skin,
scarcely quickenedΒ by a pump grownΒ dim.
Do you still feel strong?

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

Phoebe Chi

A PuppyDoc’s Return.

To that hiatus sweet,
she bids farewell
to rise to her feet
and don her white tail.

For truly did she miss each one of you,
C-dog, Amity…ol’ Noodle too.
Randoms by a Random, WritersDream,
OneSpoiledBacon— uh…Cat, I mean!

To all others I have failed to name,
forgive me, for I am truly to blame.
As I am merely, sadly, only a doc–
a doc who can’t rhyme but thinks she’s a pup.
Pup. Cup. Rupp. Knupp.

Oh dear, now I’ve run amok.

What I meant to say, but failed to do, is…

Happy Holidays to all of you!