An Internist Listens on Pediatric Rounds

“Just listen

with a willingness

to be changed,”

said Ray,

the tieless,

tireless tumor terminator

now turned

pediatric palliator.

I listen,

I hear faults form as

foundations crack

from the forceful oscillator that

keeps little Jack's airways open

and his mother's

good ship Hope afloat.

I listen,

I hear a Mother's lonely lullaby while

the team explains

young Brian's swollen brain is

severely damaged

beyond survival;

meaningful survival, that is,

whatever that means.

I listen,

I hear sadness as

Little Alice

sells lemonade and

gives pedicures in the PCICU

tethered tightly to her bed.

Pressors preserve her life

while she and Mom wait

for the Wizard to grant her

a new heart.

I listen,

I hear the faint dirge of

funeral pipes.

Beautiful Mara's eyes

spy her father

filling her room,

filling her life

as they traverse the ECMO bridge to nowhere as

hopes for her new lungs

fade unfairly.

I listen

by now my ears

seek answers

like brain-injured Shelagh's young parents

seek answers where there may be none.

Is she better?

Is she worse?

Please give us a sign.

Please give me a sign.

Am I willing to be changed?