Tag: prose

A Search Within.

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How do I know
the pill won’t seem
bitter to your tongue
through your teeth?

How do I wear
a once white coat
stained with tears
of memories?

How do I compel
my pen to write
scripts to fight
a dimming light?

How do I know
 which waters will flow
to unearth the strength
within me?

How do I persuade
a heart to let go
when it’s my hand
that sets you free?

How do I ensure
my smile won’t be
one of the last
that you’ll see?

How do I force
my ears to hear
a song I fear
of dusk so near?

How do I know
which waters will come
to enshroud the doubts
within me?

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A Memory of Ground Beef.

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Once when I was on a specialized heart failure service, I took care of a teenage boy. He had a form of idiopathic dilated cardiomyopathy (a weak, enlarged heart), and he had a huge heart…in more ways than one.

He loved baseball, pumpkin pie, and horses. His family owned a farm, so before he got sick, he would often go horseback riding. He also loved to draw.

We—a team of five physicians—took care of him for a month while he was waiting for a heart transplant. He liked us. We liked him. So he drew us as well.

I thought he was clever. But he thought I was even more so. All because he liked my joke:

“What do you call a cow with no legs?”

“Ground beef.”

That was it. He was just a great kid, trying his best to live the life given to him.

It used to be, that at the end of our visits, we would both say to each other, “Ground beef!” with a wink and a huge smile. It perplexed the other physicians, but we knew exactly what we were talking about.

It was just a silly joke. But for the two of us, it somehow meant something more. 

I found out recently that he passed away. And today I found the drawing he gave me. And I wept.

So here’s to you, dear buddy…

Ground beef 😉

♥

Confessions

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I am flawed. Those who have read some of my earlier scribbles have seen the somewhat self-critical lens through which I view myself. Despite this, a new year is just upon us, which, like every new day, offers a chance for us to adjust whatever it is we feel we need to adjust…whether it is our daily habits or our perspective on life.

Therefore, Puppydoc would like to share with you a few things about herself by presenting her three big goals for the New Year:

♥ To LIVE more.

Prioritizing her professional and academic endeavors over the past decade has somewhat come at a price for Puppydoc, who feels that she has missed out on life in general as well as many of the people in it. Therefore, she would like to do things differently this year by more fully treasuring what she already has…her dear family and friends…and by putting them first.

♥ To LAUGH more.

Medicine, while it has given her many precious memories, has formed in her a sort of a somber outlook on life, where all she sees is suffering around her. Coupled with an impression that she is rather powerless to really make a difference, she ends up bearing a lingering guilt for not being able to do more for others. For this, Puppydoc will take a dose of what has traditionally been considered the best medicine–laughter–and just try to loosen up a bit.

♥ To LOVE more.

For most of her life, Puppydoc has guarded her heart closely, almost afraid to feel…experience…embrace that nebulous realm called love. Fearing vulnerability, she has attached herself to the position of caregiver in both her professional and personal life, always caring for others while within remained a daydreaming girl aching to be cared for. But now is the time for her to start taking down the walls surrounding her. And who knows what may happen…

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Thank you, dear Liz, for prompting me to think about my goals and to write this post. You are an inspiration to all!

Wishing everyone a lovely week and a wonderful start to the New Year.

Love,
Puppydoc

A Lunch with a Gift.

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I had lunch with a homeless man.

But not just any man. An elderly man, a former high school teacher…and a former patient of mine from a charity clinic where I used to work.

It happened as I was driving through downtown, stopped at a light beneath an overpass. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. 

“Hi Doc!”

Since we were both hungry, we did the natural thing: we went for lunch at a nearby cafe. Despite intrigued glances from others, we had a lovely lunch. Looking back, it may have been one of the most enjoyable lunches I’ve ever had.

A few days later, I was contacted by the clinic who informed me that I had received a letter from a patient. And here I will share it with you—in a form put into verse by me but which maintains its original wording:

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Dear doc, you have been so kind to me.
Why, you even took me to lunch.
I wish I could give you something in return,
but I know I don’t have much.

So I write these simple words to you
in hope that on those days
that they’ll make you smile and give you strength
and peace in many ways.

You are a doctor to many,
but an angel you have been to me,
who encouraged, cared, and healed my pain,
and a light you made me see. 

I am sad that you are no longer my doc
but am glad that you are my friend.
And I hope we can keep in touch
until the very end. 

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So why did I share this? Because I was “challenged” by Liz to give a gift to someone. But now I realize—I don’t think I succeeded in giving anything to anyone.

Rather, the gift was given to me.