I hope you are all having a lovely week. I have been thinking about a way to put my experiences into words and out popped a poem. Then I wanted to add an audio track of me reading it… so did.
It’s an open poem to those working in medical professions drawn from personal experience and those of others. There are many wonderful people working in healthcare, I know, I’ve met a lot of them. Some I want to give a huge hug because they are so good. This particular poem is about what it feels like to be lost in the machine of healthcare. Feel free to listen to the track or read… or both!
Look Into My Eyes.
By Jody Klaire
I sit in corridors for hours alone; I have waited for months to get here.
I must not argue or jump a queue, I must not quarrel or show fear.
I wait for those locked behind closed doors to give minutes of their time;
And hope they listen enough to help, not to be treated like I’ve committed a crime.
I wait for treatment, tests or procedures; I read the posters on the walls;
That warn me of treating you with violence: it won’t be tolerated at all.
I wonder if I too have those rights, that years pass by and I still remain;
Seated here, waiting for answers, waiting for someone to give me a name.
I sit in corridors, scared or downcast; what will those locked behind doors say?
Will they help me or write me off, will they listen or send me away?
I do not have a PhD, a masters, or education to your degree,
I am no scientist or medic or nurse, I’ve no medical background and what’s worse,
I dare to ask questions and complain and moan, that I am unwell and I want to go home.
A hospital or cattle market? A clinic or court? I must accept that you’ve been taught.
You know better than me, I am a case to close; Be quiet, don’t argue that I am tired or cold;
That I have been here for hours, and yet I still wait, for those behind doors to tell me my state.
You can forget when you go home, yet I still cannot;
I don’t forget when I leave, conditions don’t clock off.
I just continue to sit here a wait, and hope that the door will open;
to someone with compassion, sense and with a way to fix what is broken.
If you do not believe I am human as you, please look into my eyes;
See the worry, the hurt, frustration and grief that bubbles deep inside.
I lie on beds and wait for operations; filled with panic, and fear while you gossip at stations;
TVs blasting, radios too; I long for quiet and care from you.
You fire off key words given to you in books, I must accept them or get one of your looks:
What do I know? I’m a number, a case, nothing more; how dare I argue with your own set of laws.
So I sit here in corridors for hours alone, waiting for some help or to be allowed home,
To be well again, to be happy and cured; is it too much to ask for: just to be heard?
Look into my eyes before I go in to see those behind doors;
take a long look and see what was not on your course,
A person, a human, with feelings and dreams too,
and realise that one day, I may be you.
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