THE PRICE OF SAVING LIVES:

A Poem About Doctors, Burnout, and Sacrifice

Call Room Confession- Episode-Two

Yesterday night,
I walked into the call room,
not entirely excited.
This oath promised excitements
maybe yes, maybe not.

Did you see the collapsed young man?
Collapsed of UDGIB ulcer.
It was ulcer, not the kind caused by H. pylori.
H. pylori shifted the blame to my country’s cruelty.
It’s our leaders who stitched starvation.
Patients crowd into A&E like a social gathering.
I reached for my scrub like armor,
I flung on the stethoscope like a rosary,
to save the lives of crowded victims.

It had been over 72 hours
72 hours of tarry night and day,
like a marathon sprint through the valley of death.
Yes!! I now bear oxygen in my palms;
in my palms, I borrow breath for the dying souls.

Did you hear the sound of sirens like motorcades?
It was casualties that flooded in
human bodies torn open by reckless uniformed men.
They spray bullets like raindrops,
till it found the unarmed citizens.
Tell me, is hell worse than here?

And in all those stretches
all the bleeding,
I was breaking,
My breathing was fading.
On the outside, I wore a stethoscope,
while I forgot to pause.
I didn’t pause to listen to the music
the music of my own failing heart.
Until when my breath became air.

Don’t blame me.
Not for the tears I never cried.
Not for the birthdays I forgot.
Don’t blame me
for choosing to save
everyone
but me.

Copyright reserved01507025;03AM