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Doy A Jul 2014
Who cares if it's Monday and it's 2pm
You're on my mind and on my skin
You're gnawing at my bones
Eating through my brain
It's 2pm on a cold Monday
And I miss you.
Doy A Apr 2014
Tomorrow,
or in a few hours actually,
I’ll wake up to another day
Ebbing and flowing
In the routines I’ve set for myself.

I can do better than this,
I said the other week.

But look at me
And where I stand.
It’s the same fragile ground
I’ve been balancing my feet on
Since the day I said,
I’m leaving.

I deserve better than this.
Ellen Joyce Jun 2013
What do you see, nurse, what's going on?
What are you thinking, when my buzzer turns on? -
desk full of paperwork growing in size?
climbing into bed and closing your eyes?
perhaps you are aching from hours on your feet?
or maybe you're desperate for something to eat?
I'm sure being overworked is something you hate,
but shouldn't you leave that at the hospital gate?
I lay here riddled with cancer, moaning in pain
wondering if you care or if I'm a drain.
I wonder if a kind hand will take mine in care,
or if I will be met with a cold stony glare.
I know you don't have time to sit by me a while,
but would it really be too much to flash me a smile?
When you come with charts and machines to inspect
is it too much to ask that you show me respect?
I know you're all human and that you feel too,
but it isn't my fault you have so much to do.
Please don't excuse yourself with the woes of your day,
I'm scared and I'm hurting as life fades away.
I spent my life teaching with compassion and care,
but this cancer it grips me, I've nothing to spare.
Some of you have the most beautiful of hearts,
but the lottery of care, it tears me apart -
I worry if a smile is the last thing I'll see
or if you'll be looking at your watch, instead of at me.
I'm probably not you're first and I won't be your last,
but I'm the only me, present, future and past.
The life I have lived is fading; death hangs overhead,
Fill my last days with kindness, for soon I'll be dead.
So return to your training, your core values, be aware
are you the nurse with the kind touch or the cold stony glare?
I wrote this poem as I sat watching my uncle finally sleeping in a haze of wonderful pain relieving drugs in a hospital dying of cancer.  This poem was entirely inspired by Crabbit Old Woman and the Nurse's response to Crabbit Old Woman and stands firm that there is no excuse for poor care.
Written 2011

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