Abstract
A summer, of fatal pathology,
morphine pharmacology,
Alzheimer's wings,
and other palliative things.
The metastatic melanomas,
like the subdural hematomas,
laughing while crying,
talking and dying.
When ADL capability submerges,
the ALF possibility emerges;
as LOC takes a hit,
SOB creates a fit.
Though acronyms stand tall,
the enrolled won't make it to Fall,
spouses in denial,
patients knowing all the while.
The absurd pitches a tent
among nursing's Caribbean accent,
as “modeling” is for the young and full,
“mottling” is for those of a skin gone cool.
And, when filling a new and horrible role,
parched in mouth and in soul,
a “pomelo” is a sweet feed,
but a talk with chaplain “Pamela” is the need.
With case manager as chief,
team meetings afford relief,
crossing t's, dotting i's,
in the service of remuneration and lives—
doomed by hearts and kidneys and lungs impaired,
thoughts intent on how the ancestors fared,
when to the exit they went,
some in peace, some hell-bent.
A blind patient, it's mentioned, on artificial tears,
On the inside, I imagine, quite authentic the fears.
“Confused, forgetful, unable to make her needs known,”
be it young, be it old, the body's redemption of the loan.
She's depressed? Double the dose,
order emitted without drawing close,
“Cute little guy, crumpled up bird,”
roles reversed, what would be heard.
Oriented times none, nonsensical chatter,
cause effect lost scaling the analgesic ladder.
Lung mass, welcome, sans biopsy for diagnosis,
not dying, farewell, extended prognosis.
Let me drink, let me smoke,
for now, ’tis but a joke,
to love ’till the end, or a mind to lose,
perhaps it just, no power to choose.
Some have manner, many without,
others insight, this one clout,
here and now, to doctor with presence,
occasionally evinces sublime transcendence.
When time is short, and added to it pain,
of methadone, dear half-life, be long and lacking shame.
Let midazolam magic make agitation abate,
asleep, perhaps listening, whisked away to one's fate.
Of family and pharmacodynamics we speak,
the psyche, the dose, all in need of a tweak.
Creatinine on the rise, lucidity on the wane,
supine now, soon forever, at the end oh so tame.
To die well, or at ease,
is to be hoped for, please.
A rattle, a gurgle,
a gasp, the final hurdle.
A mom, a dad, teacher, companion,
when the end comes, shocking how so done.
With certificate signed, the patient now gone
grief moves in, life—to carry on?
That which evokes sadness implies meaning,
as to be human is so fleeting,
for every death shows,
to be a circle is to close.