
- Vol 40, Issue 7
What a Dying Woman Saw
POETRY OF THE TIMES
She was clear-eyed and dying
when I knew her, soft breaths feathering
from her chest like distant smoke,
face bleached white as burnt out sky.
Propped in a chair, oxygen prongs pulled
to her neck, she commanded like a queen
for morphine, lobster, a second phone,
her mind still ruling an 80 pound body.
She allowed me to sit at the foot
of her bed like a commoner, let me ask
the details of lineage and disease,
revealed the smothering-fear in her dream.
And on the last morning, when I’d suctioned
dark secretions, she wheezed,
You’re a poet, aren’t you?
That was before I thought to write
more than a patient’s history in a chart,
before I knew what lets us breathe easier,
before their stories engraved me like stone.
Dr Berlin has been writing a poem about his experience of being a doctor every month for the past 25 years in Psychiatric Times® in a column called “Poetry of the Times.” He is instructor in psychiatry, University of Massachusetts Medical School, Worcester, Massachusetts. His latest book is Freud on My Couch.
Articles in this issue
over 2 years ago
Gender Differences in ADHD and Their Clinical Implicationsover 2 years ago
Disparities and Opportunities in Mental Health Care for Womenover 2 years ago
Adolescent Substance Use: Reasons for Optimism and Concernover 2 years ago
New Research, Treatment Issues Featured at Annual Meetingover 2 years ago
Analyzing SSRIs and Gut Microbiota in Major Depressive Disorderover 2 years ago
Determination and Imaginationover 2 years ago
Dementia Treatment: An Unmet NeedNewsletter
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