Doctor Vs Patient Poetry

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• The patient will talk.

  The doctor will talk.

  The doctor will listen while
  the patient is talking.

  The patient will listen while
  the doctor is talking.

  The patient will think that the doctor
  knows what the doctor is talking about.

  The doctor will think that the patient
  knows what the patient is talking about.

  The patient will think that the doctor
  knows what the patient is talking about.

  The doctor will think that the patient
  knows what the doctor is talking about.

  The doctor will be sure.
  The patient will be sure.

  The patient will be sure.
  The doctor will be sure.

  Shouldn’t hurt a bit, should it?

• Dear Doctor,

  I am writing to complain about these words

  you have given me, that I carry in my bag

  lymphatic, nodal, progressive, metastatic…’

  ‘…And then you say

  Where are your words Mrs Patient?

  What have you done with your words?

  Or worse, you give me that dewy look

  Poor Mrs Patient has lost all her words, but shush,

  don’t upset her, I’ve got spares in the files.

  Thank god for files.’

  Finally, also from The Poetry Cure,
  from Carole Satyamurti’s Out-Patients:

  ‘My turn. He reads my breasts

  like braille, finding the lump

  I knew was there. This is

  the episode I could see coming —

  although he’s reassuring,

  doesn’t think it’s sinister

  but to be quite clear…

  He’s taking over,

  he’ll be the writer now,

  the plot-master,

  and I must wait

  to read my next instalment.’

  The poets say it all.

  I have nothing to add.

• Forgive me, body before me, for this.
  Forgive me for my bumbling hands, unschooled
  in how to touch: I meant to understand
  what fever was, not love. Forgive me for
  my stare, but when I look at you, I see
  myself laid bare. Forgive me, body, for
  what seems like calculation when I take
  a breath before I cut you with my knife,
  because the cancer has to be removed.
  Forgive me for not telling you, but I’m
  no poet. Please forgive me, please. Forgive
  my gloves, my callous greeting, my unease—
  you must not realize I just met death
  again. Forgive me if I say he looked
  impatient. Please, forgive me my despair,
  which once seemed more like recompense. Forgive
  my greed, forgive me for not having more
  to give you than this bitter pill. Forgive:
  for this apology, too late, for those
  like me whose crimes might seem innocuous
  and yet whose cruelty was obvious.
  Forgive us for these sins. Forgive me, please,
  for my confusing heart that sounds so much
  like yours. Forgive me for the night, when I
  sleep too, beside you under the same moon.
  Forgive me for my dreams, for my rough knees,
  for giving up too soon. Forgive me, please,
  for losing you, unable to forgive.

• Doctor says take these
  Blue, pink and white.
  Why I ask?
  It’ll calm you down.
  I am writing poetry.
  Calm down.
  Blue: leaves me wanting more
  Keeps my vision in waves so that
  If I were to drive
  I’d be a fool.
  I like these, they make me ignore life.
  White: all my feelings vanish and objectivity takes over.
  What would they think of me if they saw me peeing on this hydrant?
  The officer says he sees me.
  I see him too.
  He checks my blue, white and pink
  He lets me free.
  He can tell I am in a cage already.
  Like I even care a little bit.
  I continue peeing.
  Pink: I am dog, a sad one at that.
  Who’s at the door?
  Who is that?
  Where’s my ball?
  Let’s go outside.
  I could swear someone was with me,
  Who was it?
  Nobody again,
  I wait at the door for hours.
  Pink and white: this lamp would look better shattered.
  Officer apologizes for being so rude.
  My body is warm and senseless.
  Everything around me is tragedy waiting to happen.
  Tragedy is relative.
  An un-shattered landscape is my
  Mcdonald’s Play place.
  Blue white pink: Everything in slow motion.
  The animated scribbles that were once human beings
  are no longer on a city backdrop.
  The city is now drab and grey to accent the black and angry
  Animated scribbles.
  I don’t know an officer from a swimming pool.
  Water surrounds me
  Maybe
  Could be strawberry jam.
  One thing I know for sure
  Is nothing.
  Nothing: Cold, rampant suicidal thoughts, alone.
  Everyone around me cares for me
  I am beyond help.
  I seek the doctor.
  Police officers
  Scribbles
  Jam
  Dogs
  I say.
  Yellow, Green, Orange. She says.
  Sure.
  Thank you doctor.

• For you may need to strain to hear the voice of the patient in the thin reed of his crying

  For you will learn to see most acutely out of the corner of your eye to hear best with your inner ear

  For there are late signs and early signs

  For the patient’s story will come to you like hunger, like thirst

  From “Gaudeamus Igitur”

• Doctors lead a Hectic Lifestyle to Keep Us Healthy.
  As a result they hardly get Any Time to Take Care of
  Their Own Health. On this Doctor’s Day, We all should
  resolve to Take Care of Our Doctor and Wish them Good
  Health to Show Our Appreciation for Their Service to Mankind.
  Wish You …

• On the day when
  The weight deadens
  On your shoulders
  And you stumble,
  May the clay dance
  To balance you.

  And when your eyes
  Freeze behind
  The gray window
  And the ghost of loss
  Gets in to you,
  May a flock of colors,
  Indigo, red, green
  And azure blue,
  Come to awaken in you
  A meadow of delight.

• doctors in the old days
  did more than read a book
  they made house calls on the cold days
  just to have look

  they brought the medicine
  they gave you what would heal
  they didn’t work for big business
  they didn’t work for a pill

  doctors in the new days
  call it medical care
  they drive mercedes
  they don’t have much time to spare

  they sell the medicine
  they give you what is next
  they work for big business
  they work for a check

• Every night I lie awake
  And every day I lie abed
  And hear the doctors, Pain and Death,
  Confering at my head.
  They speak in scientific tones,
  Professional and low—
  One argues for a speedy cure,
  The other, sure and slow.
  To one so humble as myself
  It should be matter for some pride
  To have such noted fellows here,
  Conferring at my side.

• We express our gratitude to the doctors in a simple way,
  Conveying heart-felt ‘ Thank You’ on Indian Doctors Day.

  Celebrated in their appreciation on First July, every year,
  And to honor great physician and patriot Dr.B C Roy dear.

  Since 1991 on his birth as well as death anniversary day,
  Tributes to the true Indian medicine luminary to pay.

  Doctors ‘profession is godly & noble helping mankind
  Angels in spotless white coat, in none others we find.

  Inherent smile, hope, courteous listening and fast walk,
  Psychological touch, empathy& patient customized talk.

  Baby is born to a mother and brought up by parents,
  But only a doctor can diagnose and cure its ailments.

  Cesareans, surgeries & deliveries go round the clock,
  Which doctors sacrificing self comforts face like rock.

  Her or his care, commitment, precision and expertise,
  Ought to be praised and acknowledged by all the wise.

  Challenging and risky surgeries are accepted to dignify,
  Their brave medical profession and their best they try.

  Ramayana was directed not merely for financial gains
  Ramanandsagar longed to live in his TV viewers’ veins.

  A surgeon acquires special skills and courage– wonders,
  Trusted the Best, only before him one easily surrenders.

  He or she operates not being almost right, but only exact,
  Puts best of his/ her body, mind heart, soul and, intellect.

  Biggest fear to the patient is the fear of ‘the unknown’.
  Only till an expert gives firm opinion on reports shown.

  As a sincere, doctor gets promoted or in age advances,
  Her humility, love and concern for patients enhances.

  A sight of a person wearing in her neck a stethoscope,
  Gives patients and relatives in wards, a life, new hope.

  Wards’ round by very senior and junior doctors’ teams,
  For patients cure& developing juniors logical -it seems.

  Working up to 40 hours at a stretch during his internship,
  Is possible as his attitude elevates work to love& worship.

  No lunch break, no leaving OPD, till he examines all patients.
  Respecting their individualities, valued queries & sentiments.

  Cursory glance of his old patient reflects him his past history,
  Patients’ confidence inspired in him, he considers his victory.

  A PGI –HoD, wishes- on his departing bed his expressed will,
  His body must never touch any non- Allopathic powder or pill.

  Even though it ensures his survival for one or two full year.
  Stamp of non- allopathic means on his soul ha can’t bear.

  He thinks it a disgrace to his intrinsic medical profession.
  What a dedication and integrity! We must learn a lesson.

  With current Indian patient doctor ratio of about1700 to one.
  Nothing rapidly better for all patients’ care can really be done.

  Doctors still work sincerely for hearts of all the patients won.
  Often considered as better friend, brother, daughter or son.

  Best of the doctors’ at about 45 is that happy they remain,
  Harmony among required life balances they do maintain.

  Maximum of 0.5% of 7 lac Indian doctors may not be honest,
  Distorted news, vexatious interests should never defame the rest.

  Opting strenuous medical stream & not thinking of brain drain,
  Grace of God, blessings of patients and mental health they gain.

  The Day is an opportunity to appreciate entire Medical profession,
  For doctors’ duty, grace, integrity ,latest knowledge & compassion.

  The Poem was like a baby, easy to conceive but hard to deliver-‘send,’
  Gestation- 1st July 08, to pay tribute to Dr..BCRoy’ Gandhiji‘s friend.