I Went Again To See My Doctor/Patients Aplenty and Patience Scarce

This is a poem about doctor-patient relationships, something that interests me greatly. I am curious as to how patients view their doctors, and doctors view their patients, and  the communication, or lack thereof, that goes on between the two parties. This poem is a general expression of some of the struggles patients go through, and not a reflection of the standard of care I have received. Happily, I find myself living the last stanza of this poem :)

I Went Again To See My Doctor

I went again to see my doctor
As I was feeling rather ill,
I wasn’t quite excited about it
I went fighting against my will.

I’m back again with my chronic ailment
And I need more meds to get by,
I don’t know why I’m feeling torment
When I see my doctor I realize why.

Here’s a man who has no time for me
His every moment filled with stress,
I see the many patients he has to see
The time for me is so much less.

Why do I say I am doing fine
When my heart is full of grief,
I do not tell of the pain that’s mine
Just to see his look of relief.

And so I rush because I feel so rushed
And do not say what’s on my heart,
I want to gush but end up shushed
I leave out the real “Me” part.

“How are you, doctor, you look well,
Yes, it’s been a while”.
I say this as I really do care
It’s said with a little smile.

When he speaks it’s clear to see
He’s tired, overworked , almost sullen.
One wonders if it’s just for me
Or does this happen with everyone.

Sometimes the doctor tells a story
Of his own struggles and woes,
And for a moment there’s beauty
In the meeting of two souls.

How nice to share our burdens
To see each other as human beings,
But such is not the lot of patients
For whom doctors are super beings.

For unto him who holds all knowledge
Is given the power over me,
And if this inequity I do acknowledge
Such a lasting hold has he.

“You are to be told and you must hear
You do not know enough to judge,
I have no time for your every tear
I am too busy, I do too much.”

And so I bite my tongue and hold my thoughts
And when I leave I feel empty and yet full,
Bursting with tears unshed, with sorrow fraught
Wishing he cared, feeling like a fool.

Does it matter that my doctor care?
Do I need a human touch?
I get my meds each time I go there
Surely I musn’t ask too much.

And yet I know for sure my healing
Is not to body only bound
For I am more than just bodily being
In it are soul and spirit found.

When I find a doctor who understands
The varied needs that I do bring
I daresay I will grasp his hands
And never let him go for anything.

Pavitar Kaur Gill
26/02/09

Patients Aplenty and Patience Scarce

A poem expressing the woes of doctors, as perceived by a patient.


Patients Aplenty and Patience Scarce

Another day at the clinic,
Another day with patients galore.
Another day of feeling melancholic,
I can hardly take any more.

All day they troop into my room
Each and every one;
Wanting me to dispel their gloom
Me, a mere human.

I ask for symptoms to understand
What they are going through,
And hopefully I can recommend
Some action to help them too.

I get a story long and grey
Winding all about,
I lose myself along the way
Trying to sieve sense out.

Finally I think I see what’s there,
I say what I believe is true.
I tell what’s honest, right and fair,
I tell them what to do.

But doctor, can I ask something,
Are you sure that this is so?
I read online there’s other things
That can work as well, you know.

Aromatherapy and ayurvedic,
Herbal remedies and acupuncture
Doctor, you’re very allopathic
Perhaps for that there is a cure?

I’m not sure why my patient wonders
If I know these cures to be a remedy;
I went to med school for six long years
He's just been online for three.

The internet has helped them know
But wise they are not yet;
And I must be their spring board
For all the quack ideas they get.

And when I say I do not know
They give me looks of disbelief;
Then take the meds I give them
And often find relief.

I try to listen to their many troubles,
But woes aplenty I have also.
They do not seem to sense my struggles,
I do not think they care to know.

For why would they when the duty’s mine
And they pay a fee for my advice;
Their money’s worth is all and fine
And that for them will suffice.

And just as well that this is so
For so many, many a day do I see;
And torn and tired would I grow
If each of them wanted more of me.

For to whom should I give something more
And to whom should I give much less?
For each ought to be the same as the one before
None of them a prince or princess.

Yet there are the ones who think that doctors
Have far more time than we do,
Who want, nay demand, special favours
Imagining themselves to be who’s who.

I know so and so, my father’s friend,
My husband’s uncle's niece,
And if you don’t give me time without end
I’ll write a long, nasty piece.

The looming threat of malpractice suits,
The nasty complaint letter;
These are possibilities, rotten fruits,
Perhaps another career would’ve been better?

And so I tip-toe around the patients
Trying to remember my first love;
When medicine was my passion
And I thought that I could serve.

So dear patient if I appear quiet
And I seem in an awful hurry,
Do not think it is you whom I hurt
For it is I who must worry.

For with patients aplenty and patience scarce
I am losing myself in a haze,
Of patients rushing through my door in a farce
And myself left in a daze.

Such it will be until the system improves,
So patients do learn to wait,
Doctors must hang on to their dreams
And hope it won’t be too late.

Pavitar Kaur Gill

(Feb 2009)