Anger
A poem about being a MD in this crises.
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Where does one go when the anger is unremitting? No breathing app, no forest walk, no songbird stills the heart.
How does one sleep when the heart is seething? All effort resisted with such great force as to take the breath away.
Calls of “watch-out, is that really wise” met with scorn or bewilderment. Witness of horrors in the name of kindness seemingly ignored.
What has become of my ilk? What has become of the guild to which I swore? Are we now but vassals for forces dark and alien, their greed our only guide?
How loudly do we have to shout? How softly do we need to whisper? How much logic, how much heart?
The danger we face is subtle, building so slowly that it is barely noticed; until too late, when anguish and despair knock at our doors.
“My baby, do I breastfeed, or am I poisoning her? My mother, now no longer able to speak. I am so tired, I fear I cannot get the second treatment.”
Risk of retribution discarded; there is no redemption but through bravery. We can do nothing else; this is the rock on which we stand.
We do not do this for self-fulfillment. We shout and whisper as our hearts are breaking; sorrow and anger mixed in our tears.
