Tools of the Trade

New doctors will be empowered by poems
in the pockets of their metaphorical white coats.
There at the ready:
on early, sweaty, scratchy, ward rounds
to deploy while waiting patiently for the consultant’s
late appraisal;
give filing, phlebotomy and form-filling an edge
and depth;
sweeten tea-breaks as if with juxtaposed Jaffa Cakes
to answer that persistent bleep – while sneaking a pee,
to travel the manic crash and flat-lined emptiness of
cardiac arrest
thole the inevitability of the inevitable;
to pace with careful cadence;
stop and breathe usefully
arrive ready not to recite by rote;
to be alone with on the boisterous bus home
to txt anxious Mums and Dads – ‘Are you remembering
to feed yourself?’
‘YES. LOL. Smiley-face – perhaps a frog?’
to place strategically on the cup-ringed cabinet – first
night on-call,
thrust under the sun-torn pillow on the morning
following the first night on-call
find undisturbed, but at a different verse, following the
jumpy party, following the first night on-call
to steal insights into the science of nurses’ smiles
to prepare for change.
To take a full history, examine closely and reach a
working diagnosis: ‘You are a human being.’
‘The stars sing as whitely as the mountains.’
To investigate with prudence.
To reconsider the prognosis in the light of better-quality
information
To appreciate; pass-on; ponder
challenge, relinquish,
allow, accept
be accosted by dignity.
To forgive and free.