So glad ‘I can keep my doctors on my new insurance plan’
My endocrinologist’s next opening is June 07, 2027
Today I got a reminder call for tomorrow’s appointment with the insomnia specialist
Had to take a pass on the meeting, for it wasn’t in my book
As the year I made it, (2014) I had not by insomnia been overtook
And as for my Primary Care Physician, before I saw him, he retired
So I saw his partner, who with duct tape together had been wired
I asked him if he was actually a PCP for car mechanics
He smirked, then howled ~ said he’s just obsessive-manic
Your boss told you what to believe.
He is tanking badly in the polls.
Still, your boss told you what to believe.
It contradicts all the evidence.
But you’ve let him paint all your images.
You’ve let him create all your facts.
Don’t Read This Poem.
Your boss’s surrogates tell you what to believe.
They are his lip service, his yes men.
Their words belie all the videos and images.
Their brains are hollow vessels hungry for truth.
You’ve let them manipulate your world.
Don’t Read This Poem.
Your boss and his spin doctors control you.
These ministers of propaganda need you to believe.
ICE killed American citizens in cold blood.
They spun this as killings of domestic terrorists.
It is best that you bury your head in the sand.
It is best that you never read this poem.
There is a mad phenomenon
that stalks sick sad modern zest
Seek an external remedy
to remove a chronic pest
The body is a miracle
when given what it needs
But first you must remove the cause
upon which it feeds
Hey Guru mister Guru
won't you come and help me through
What you really must realise
is that the Guru is you
Prescription for the doctors
that well may preserve your life
The doctor of sunshine and also fresh air
In such abundance on this planet
these supplements are rife
The doctor of restful sleep and daily exercise
are you alerted, does it ring a bell
Adhering to these principals
will surely make you well
The doctor of non poisoned food
and clean water too
With this scope of daily living
your vitality will enlarge
No need for appointments
all provided free of charge
If you wish to commence healing
this is what to do
What you must realise
that the Guru is you
Gay has a doctor’s appointment almost every day
bone specialist, heart surgeon, eye doctor for old Gay
Goes from appointment to appointment hoping to find something wrong
Breaking a bone or two would have her singing a joyful song
She has had seventeen colonoscopies this year
plus, several surgeries, next year they’ll rebuild her ear
there she goes now to another doctor appointment I’ll bet
I heard that she is demanding to have her unbroken arm set.
i avoid doctors
what I don’t know
cannot hurt or worry me
win win
all the gadgets on the doctor’s wall
are tempting me, calling me honey
I want to play with them, and I mean all.
But if I break them, they’ll cost me money.
Dare I share my intrusive thoughts
Once suicidal in a mood so dark
I actually tried to stop my heart
Using vitamins to sin with life to part
It was a low that got so deep
Manic tide had overcome me
Was hearing voices in trilogies
Mad as I was bipolar buried
I recall walking outside
Collapsed in the sunshine
Barely recall ambulance ride
Feeling lost wanting to die
Intrusive thoughts from deep hell
Kept me lost and so very unwell
I was a boat without a sail
Within my mind in a prison cell
Lost many months in a ward
Though so sick poetry still soared
God used doctors nurses to save
A crazy little poet from herself that day
The day started, but little did I know it would be an end to my dreams,
That what was about to happen would end up with a long gut-wrenching scream,
The weather was grey, the dark sky was threatening rain,
I was nearing a world of excruciating pain.
When we met it was with a smile, a hug and a looking forward stare,
Neither of us knowing what was to come so we continued without any care.
We sat side by side holding hands and waiting,
We talked, planning our future both happily innovating,
Then the call came, we were next into the room,
The room was dark, it felt as if it was full of gloom.
We sat together, still holding each other’s hand,
The man behind the desk looked sad, his skin was milky, sort of bland.
He looked up and said he had bad news,
He just said we have run out of options, there’s nothing more to choose,
He said the woman I loved was going to die,
I just went blank, I couldn’t even cry.
He said she had days, days not even a week,
We knew we had lost everything we had wanted to seek.
But this day was done, it certainly was not I had dreamed,
It was the day to abandon everything inside I just screamed.
In a world of growing uncertainty,
whenever there's a great emergency,
Doctors Without Borders
alleviates disorders
with profound humaneness and urgency.
They, who are readily and always available;
Checking if your vital signs are stable.
They work round the clock with lives in their hands.
Carrying out nature's most delicate command.
They go into the surgical room without an iota of fear,
Bringing the much needed hope and chasing away despair.
The surgical robe, a garment light as a feather;
Worn by the doctors, heavy as a boulder.
ECG steadily beeping, ECH continuously whooshing,
They are intricately focused, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are perspiring.
The nasal cannal steadily pumping oxygen into the patient’s nostrils,
Leaving no room for disaster and peril.
They're racing against time, or rather, in a race with the Grim Reaper;
One trying to harvest lives, the other trying to preserve.
They deserve their flowers, a kiss and a thumbs up,
For sticking with us and never giving up.
By;
Solace.
"...in spring, the most delicate feathery yellow of plumes and plumes and plumes and trees and bushes of wattle, as if angels had flown right down out of the softest gold regions of heaven to settle here, in the Australian bush."
— D. H. Lawrence, Kangaroo
Paraboloid totems of evergreen hope, upside down,
Sparkling white trinkets, sparkling white dears.
‘What do we need to do now?' you ask
I got my husband’s winged gift around my neck, a blue stone dragonfly.
Isn’t my green dress an ornamental kingly shroud?
Both stormy and luminous, the cuts on my arms are still caked in dried blood;
You are sad: your heart bleeds into mine with a bit of emerald dust and ruby red sunrises;
The doctor is the Rose; I am the Flame.
You are all marble, Plato, self-contained;
I am grotesque, decaying, Lilith-born.
My scars are greyhound clouds or maybe trim poodles
Whose slightly wolfish eyes will bleed
A blazing cornucopia of yellow wattle sprigs;
Doctor, your heart is a gold mine and joyous as Spring.
Pretty doctors
Two young female doctors dressed in white
wearing stereoscopes around their slim
necks as decorations, an accessory that
gave them charming dignity
Between them, looking at a computer
my name was there, they were talking
about my medical history
I tried to get a word in but was blithely
ignored, after all, I was the
patient, but my input went unheeded
They were happy with my recovery
As I packed my things and left, they were
still talking about my case
Relationships with doctors
Can be awkward, even though
You discuss the same old problems
Every time that you may go.
Yet if you have a physician
You have seen for many years,
All self-consciousness and tension
Somehow quickly disappears.
He’ll remember all your symptoms –
Be they serious or not –
And will take his time explaining
What you have or haven’t got.
There might even be some jokes about
Appointments in the past
And you realize that you’re lucky,
For such bonds so rarely last.
As my other docs retired
Or switched practices on me,
I feel grateful I’m connected, still,
To my same old G.P.*
*General Practitioner
Rural doctors
In quiet towns where roads are few,
Where fields stretch wide and skies are blue,
There walk the healers, brave and true,
The doctors of the rural view.
With bags in hand and hearts of gold,
Through rain and shine, through heat and cold,
They journey far where need is great,
To serve the towns that time forgot.
In simple clinics, makeshift rooms,
They fight disease, dispel the glooms,
With limited, yet mighty, tools,
They stand as pillars, patient schools.
Their knowledge vast, their skills refined,
In every touch, in every mind,
They bring a hope, a healing light,
To places often out of sight.
For every life they gently save,
In every soul they make more brave,
They build a bridge, they pave a way,
For better health with each new day.
In fields where whispers of the past,
Meet modern care that’s built to last,
These rural doctors, strong and kind,
Are heroes in the humblest find.
So let us sing their noble deeds,
Their tireless work to meet our needs,
In rural lands, they stand and serve,
With endless heart and steadfast nerve.
Written Sept 1, 2024
© Dr Upma A. Sharma
They come to us, both young and old,
Plagued by ailments, manifold.
Suffering obvious in their eyes,
Thinking, am I soon to die?
Tortured, plaintive souls outreaching,
Voices that are so beseeching.
A kindly word of reassurance,
Gentle touch, and calming presence,
Are so soothing and bring a smile;
The patient happy for a while!
As we listen to their complaints,
Without hindrance or restraint.
Acumen of many years,
Earned by dint of sweat and tears,
Guides us as we auscultate,
Ever so gently then palpate.
We reach a possible diagnosis,
Order tests to support this.
Surgery or medication as required,
The patient cured, as we desired.
The happiness and gratitude,
A smile of immense magnitude,
Are the greatest gifts that we desire;
Keep alight the inner fire.
May the staff of Aesculapius,
Forever be there to guide us.
May we forever serve humanity
With God's grace and humility.
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