A Physician’s Privilege
One of the most trying and difficult times to deal with as a physician, is the constant dealing with death and dying. One must find a way to cope or become overwhelmed with grief. I have unfortunately been witness to many poor ways of dealing with such patients. This is what the poem is about.
On the palm of my hand, I give you my life.
It’s yours to caress, dissect or discard.
For your name is rumored of highest regard
Revered by those of purest belief.
So why do you tell me I’m going to die.
That the clouds will grey the blue of my sky.
Why is it now, that I’m beyond repair
My fissures of faith drowned with despair.
Perhaps you believe that my life is a number
Tipping the scales with guilt, encumbered
Blurring the border of fact and compassion
Til purpose of numbers becomes your religion.
Please consider my gift once more
Please consider the weight of my soul
I pray once more with all things considered
You choose to listen,
My faith, delivered.