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There is general treatment and there is my pain regimen. The doctor will do what they’re most comfortable with. The doctor will move at a glacier pace. The doctor will recite what he assumes to be policies that fit their corrupt agenda. The doctor abuses his power .  The doctor is cold and insensitive.  The doctor only connects me to a dollar. Doctor Dr. Dollar dollar bad karma.
01/26/21? In between a major shift change at my local hospital, one doctor thought it appropriate to judge me and deny me of what is written in my  pain chart.
We are here

We are exhausted, emotionally drained, and heartbroken from the events we have viewed today.
We are attempting to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders.

We are here

We will hold your hand when you need a moment of support.
We will always lend an ear to listen to anything that might be troubling you.
We will  be here when you need a shoulder to cry on.

We are here.

We will always  motivate you to reach your goal.
We will be there to cheer you on, and celebrate your successes.
We will always tell you jokes, and share a laugh or two.

We are here

We will care for your family and support them through this time.
We will remind you and them that you are not alone.
We will be here every step of the way.

We are here.

When you are able to leave us, we will be here waving at you excitedly as you drive away.
We will think of you and your family often.

We are here.

We will be here caring for other patients just like you.
We will work long hours, so they are successful just like you.
We will be here fighting until the end.
Taylor St Onge Nov 2020
I’m thinking about Dr. O’Neil’s hands shaking as she
                                                 struggles to intubate a cat.  
I’m thinking about Dr. Krager’s hands squeezing the cat’s rib cage,
pulsing life with a delicate force; she is much more gentle than
                                                      practition­ers are with humans—
hard and quick down with the palms; the ribs snapping,
                                                                ­     the sternum sore.  

Some time ago an 80-year-old woman on my unit was
opened up bedside for a cardiac procedure during a code.  
After a week in ICU, she came back to us on the unit, was up and
walking and talking, and was discharged home within another week.

Meanwhile, the 60-year-old man was dead in the morgue
       after a 45-minute code failed to resuscitate him.  

The flip of the coin.  The thin line.  The blessing or the curse.  
The absolute darkness of a body bag.  The cold chill of absolute zero.  
The fresco painted on the catacomb walls could either depict the
light of the sun or the multicolored lights that the
brain shoots off minutes before death.  
                                                        ­               The eleventh hour,
                                                                ­  isn’t that what it’s called?  

We don’t want to talk about body care, death care.  
We have to, but it won’t register.  
                                                     ­       After a loss, after a trauma,
                                                                ­   we are on autopilot.  
I think of my mother,
                                        six feet beneath frozen soil in
                                      a pink padded casket and think:
                                                                ­                             I don’t want that.
I think of the prearranged plots my grandparents picked out
next to her in an above ground crypt and think:
                                                          ­                                   I don’t want that.
Bacteria still causes decay after the embalming process.  
Putrefied flesh.  Bones visible.  Muscles eaten.  Tissues disintegrated.  
We don’t talk about it.  

We try to think the opposite.  The positive vs the negative.  
(But that’s not always possible or healthy.)

I’m thinking about hands inserting IVs, hands taking
blood pressures, hands documenting the code notes
on a clipboard in the back of the room.  
I couldn’t do these things.
                                                 My hands tend to break what they touch.  
The glass bowl in the pet store.  
                               The clay project in art class.  
                                                        ­    The succulents, the basil, the orchid.
I’m good at things I don’t have to think about:
good at the autopilot, good at the autonomic,
                                                                                    good at trauma.
notice that the fawn response isn't titled here
Carlo C Gomez Jul 2020
thy kingdom come
thy will take place
selling health at a premium
to the human race
forgive us our debts
from thy mighty hand
or at least allow us
an installment plan
give us our daily meds
but deliver us from evil
by providing generic instead
Rishawn May 2020
Uncertainty is terrifying
Indefinite is paralyzing
Isolation is immobilizing

We take these terms in stride
as we know of the greater struggle
yet the fear of fear itself is not a source of pride

Feel the stress, endure the hardship
and remember there is a family here
that will be there for kinship

What is coming is unknown
what has happened is not overblown
How we move forward will make a noise that resounds

Lets band together and rise
Ensure we mitigate a demise
Keep away and safe
but not alone
not
without good faith
Ayodeji Oje Apr 2020
Here's the matter
That no matter the matter
A life without Christ has no matter
Here and hereafter
Christ is the core of the matter
He is all that matters
Ayodeji Oje Apr 2020
All is fair in warfare
But all seem not fair
Under this cruel biosphere
Life's fare isn't always fair

Till the end of life's fare
One man's funfare
Will be another man's warfare
Life's fare Isn't always fair

All won't be fair
But to enjoy this sphere
Locate your very own sphere
Life's fair isn't always fair
Life isn't fair.
Tony Tweedy Apr 2020
How many ventilators can you buy for the price of an Aircraft Carrier?
You just can never have enough aircraft carriers.... or tanks or planes...
Sitting in a waiting room with twenty other men,
All waiting for the good doctor to come; and then,
I notice, we’ve been waiting for half an hour;
Some worried sick, just sitting with no power
To help themselves or others in the room;
Just waiting; and although there’s no more room,
Another one enters. No! Sorry! A pair;
Yes! Most people come with companions who care;
Or, pretend to care, and seek relief here.
They say, “He’s always late. He has nothing to fear!
He is the great doctor!” But why is he late?!
Is he watching? Is he smiling at our fate?
Or, is he sleeping with some pretty goddess?
When are you going to come Mr. Flawless?!
Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m right; but if I’m right,
We are all waiting for him to ***, right?!
Forget it. This room makes illusions shatter;
All helpless, no relief; but, does it matter?
Hossein Mohammadzade
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