Rahhiel Riasat is a Salaried GP and Associate Professor with a portfolio in medical education in the East of England. She has an interest in using creative enquiry and arts to facilitate educator and learner wellbeing.
A year ago, I attended an art and poetry exhibition with some friends. What I didn’t expect was to stand up in front of an audience and read my own poetry. I am grateful to the friends who nudged me onto the stage. I believe that poetry helps clinicians to gain a deeper understanding of the way patients experience disease and illness. It may also help us to process the emotional and psychological complexities of our work and to cultivate well-being.
I knew her smile*
A knock on the door.
First patient of the day.
“Hello… come in,” I say.
I didn’t recognise the name,
But I knew her smile.
“I am glad to see you doctor, it has been so long.
I am so relieved, it is you that I am seeing,
you know everything about me.
I try not to bother you, because I know you are so busy
and there are people who need you more than me.
When I called this morning
and the receptionist said
it was you
that I would be seeing…
I told her,
that is perfect!
You don’t rush me out of the door,
you always listen,
you always understand.”
I smile, listen and nod,
Reminded of why I do this job.
“I am taking up too much of your time doctor,
I’m sorry, the reason why I am here is not because of me,
but it is my husband.”
I notice worry in her features,
her smile changes to a frown.
“You see, he is getting more and more angry,
not wanting to go shopping,
doesn’t want to see our friends.
He stays inside,
sleeping all day in the arm chair.
I cook him good food,
I could I make it from scratch,
He says he doesn’t feel like eating it.
I know something is not right.
Let’s go to see that nice doctor, I tell him.
He just wont listen.
He shakes his head and looks so sad.
Refuses to get washed,
Spends all night awake,
You know him doctor, that is not the man I know.”
She rubs her forehead,
Locks tight her fingers in her lap,
Gazes down…
Takes a deep breath
…and lets it out…
She looks at me,
With tear filled eyes and says,
“What do I do doctor? I do not know…”
I hand her a tissue and place my hand gently on her arm and say,
“Shall I come to visit him?”
The corners of her eyes crinkle,
Her eyes light up,
She blinks and the tears fall.
She nods,
She smiles,
“Thank you so much doctor.”
*Author’s note: This patient in this poem is a fictional patient derived from my experiences as a clincian and not a specific individual (living or dead).
Featured photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.
