Author Archives: drcharles

The Sunlight Came in Through a Measurable Door

by MJS

the sunlight came in through a measurable door
that opened on water and danced at the shore
the beams were but particles I caught in my gaze
that turned and returned in the form of great waves
it’s a certain uncertainty, a past made pluperfect
for what had transpired led to different verdicts
an absolute fuzzy, a gray apparition
indeterminate forms, a quantum perdition
if “a” is not ” b” that is all fine and dandy
when “a” is not “a” I reach for the brandy
for Science is not, at it’s ultimate core
a place where the facts become metaphor
where meaning meanders, where evidence flounders
where logic and reason are left to sand-pounders
results must be tested! beware of rank sophistry!
and though life is elegant there’s no testing poetry!
unless, to be fair, you have walked on that path
where Euclid and Escher take turns with the math
where Alice descends with animals feral
and dodges the facts laid out by olde Carroll
but I fear that I stray from the points on the compass
and lessons are tossed as we frolic and rumpus
Science, dear Science is not weakened in light
nor does it seek ridiculous fights
can you imagine, when sitting with friends
picking a conflict with Spinoza’s lens?
or shaking a fist at the stars and the moon
while performing autopsies on the cat and the spoon?
subject and object, the yin and the yang
went out with Einstein and came in with a bang
but where to go now, in theory and thought?
and what is the point, when surrounded with rot?
that is the secret, that is the glory!
when faced with the lie to give lie to the story!
and seek not to win in a joust with a fool
the subject and object are not in a duel
Science is not circumscribed by the narrow
and space will but bend the straightest of arrows
subject and object, particle, wave
the ultimate truth or a game ‘fore the grave?
you are a particle, you are a wave
nothing is spent for nothing is saved!
and if you are anxious, if the floor starts to give
fear not the uncertain, it’s how we all live!

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Dreamer

by David Lewis

Banging, clammering, frosted glass, muffled shouts
Beside me white wraiths give comfort
“We have the answer to World Peace”
No way to share, then ….

Nothing

Black sausages with red faces swaying
Rearing up to overwhelm
Purple clad person floats stage left
Disappears to the right…

Silence

Coloured orbs float around me,
Chamber filled with people
Gun pointed at me
A scuffle, a shot…

Blackness

Afar, red car draws up to a tower
Zoom in to follow driver
Round and round we climb
He jumps, I follow…

Flying

Earth races away from me
Whoosh
Halt
Behold awesome blue sapphire

Peace

Eyes open to
Chained by tubes and leads
Purple nurse greets me
“Hello” she says

And the work begins to get out of Intensive Care

 

Author’s note: “I am trying to communicate some of the experience when I was unconscious in ITU after a respiratory arrest. Three weeks in medical coma before awaking. The events still affect me and I hope my humble offering goes some way to improve our understanding of what it is like to be hallucinating while to all appearances one is unconscious.”

 

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The Ambulance

by Elise LeQuire

The cry of it can rend the night
Or double pulse rates in a flash,
Its orange sheen, its whirling light,
The hearts it holds after a crash.

But listen, should the day approach
When you must stay and I must leave,
Think of me as that shrieking coach
That speeds away; oh how I’ll grieve

To hold a disembodied heart
And leave your side; oh how I’ll moan
At losing you, no surgeon’s art
Can keep a heart alive alone.

Still you will hear me rave and scream
Announcing horror in the night,
And I’ll be in each siren dream
And in each whirling warning light.

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What Will Not Caring Feel Like?

by Simon Hamid

I trembled very gently inside,
When the old man with a stroke,
Told me “thank you” in his own language.

He didn’t know if I understood,
But he said it anyway.
Saying it so quietly,
Like a sleeper’s 4 am sigh.

I knew what he said.

I did nothing but help him put his shirt on,
Dragging his dead arm through a coarse, sun-yellow shirt,
Tugging on a ragged, pilled sleeve,
I persuaded his crooked and stiff arm through.

I wonder when I will stop feeling…

How will I know I don’t care anymore?
Perhaps when I won’t have to wipe my eyes,
Blinking in the glaring whiteness of the hospital bathroom,
Pretending allergies or yawning is making me sniffle.

Maybe I won’t have to try to be harsh and cold then,
Because I really am.

Could it be, that I will always care, and be sad,
Grieving these patients’ loss for them?

But now…on this day…the man in yellow looks like a grandfather,
And I wish I didn’t feel.

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A Great First Poem

Here is the first poetry I received, and it is great.  So far 8 poems entered, more to come soon.

A reminder that all poems will be posted on the contest website with permission, with selections featured here as well.

 

two poems
by meghan o’donnell

one:
i watched you sleep,
tirelessly,
and almost forgot your voice,
even though its underwater color-tones hid under each automated breath (quartz movement) and when
you spoke new words, i didn’t understand them at first because they weren’t
the same few syllables that I clung to.

you drew for me, once, two arrows facing each other
like this
this is like that, or what i’ve understood it to be. I keep looking
at my hands and the space between the words; the space that’s between everything
so that nothing’s really ever touching at all.

two:
you noticed that i bit my nails
i could eat nothing but peas, one at a time,
and even then
the salt made me choke
(i choked, jagged)
moon slivers, dead bone, scarred wood,
the work of hundreds of pairs of tap shoes
and nervous habits.

the man in the brown suit arrived (
new orleans)
at your bedside
you looked outside and noticed
that there aren’t even windows anymore,
just gray panes where nothing happens.
he saw it in your eyes and he told you
‘you’re dirty,
and we’ll need to clean you up from the walls.’

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A Calling for Entries in the 2011 Charles Prize for Poetry Contest

Announcing the second annual Poetry Contest!

An award will be given to the writer who submits for consideration the most outstanding poem within the realm of health, science, or medicine.

The contest starts today and ends September 30th, 2011. The winners will be chosen shortly thereafter by an elite group of 8 judges (other doctors, friends with literary training, and select bloggers).

The contest is open to everyone.

1st prize – the prestigious, and still pretentiously named, 2011 Charles Prize for Poetry, $500.00, and a homegrown cherry tomato from my garden.

Runner Up – $100.00, and lots of admiration.

Honorable Mention – a commemorative t-shirt, which will probably be funkier than you can imagine.

Poems should be related to experiencing, practicing, or reflecting upon a medical, scientific, or health-related matter.

Last year’s contest was a great success, with over 125 poems submitted for consideration. I received requests from readers to “publish” all the poems as we went along, and so as an improvement this year I’ve established a separate blog (charlesprize.blogspot.com) to share all these great poems. Some highlights will also be posted here on theexaminingroom.com.

So have fun, find inspiration, and send your entry to:
drcharles.examining *at* gmail.com

Rules:
Your poem must have a theme of medicine, science, or health.
You may submit up to 2 poems.
You can submit poems that have been published elsewhere, if you’ve retained the rights.
You can write under your own name, a pen name, or anonymous.
After you enter a poem I will ask your permission to repost it on the blog. You can say yes or no, and this will not affect your chances in any way. You can also ask me to take down a poem at any time and I will. I assert no exclusive rights to the poem whatsoever.

I know there are some extraordinary words waiting to be written, so best of luck, and let the contest begin 🙂

Coupon or coupon code?

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Harassing Obama, Decision Fatigue, and the Necessity of Vacation

Our president’s 10-day vacation with his family in Martha’s Vineyard has been derided by his enemies as unacceptable with so much business left unfinished in Washington. There’s the budget, Libya, and a killer earthquake to contend with.  Opponents have called for him to cancel his vacation and hurry back to work. While such demands are an obvious political harassment intended to make Obama look lazy and self-indulgent, they send a dangerous message to the public: work, work, work, and keep working even if it makes you less productive, healthy, and imaginative.

As the writer Stephen King wrote in The Shining: “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Jack, as you may recall, ended up trying to butcher his family. All work and no play makes presidents short-tempered, unable to think clearly, indecisive, unsuccessful, and irresponsible. Not taking vacation is detrimental to the mind, body, and spirit, and can lead to depression, cardiovascular disease, and immune system dysfunction, not to mention bad decisions.

A recent study reported in The New York Times discussed the phenomenon of “decision fatigue” and how the burden of constant decision-making leads to unreliable results. Specifically the study analyzed the decisions of a parole board with shocking results:

Judges, who would hear the prisoners’ appeals and then get advice from the other members of the board, approved parole in about a third of the cases, but the probability of being paroled fluctuated wildly throughout the day. Prisoners who appeared early in the morning received parole about 70 percent of the time, while those who appeared late in the day were paroled less than 10 percent of the time…

There was nothing malicious or even unusual about the judges’ behavior… (it) was due to the occupational hazard of being, as George W. Bush once put it, “the decider.” The mental work of ruling on case after case, whatever the individual merits, wore them down.

The decision to grant parole leaves a human life hanging in the balance, and such wild variation in deciding if someone is granted freedom or returns to a prison cell is horrifying to me. It is one more bit of evidence that our judicial/penal system is still as primitive as we are. People are fallible, and fatigable, and the two conditions are very related. (Add a dash of theatrics, manipulative arguments, and the impossible expectation that doctors should be right all the time and you’ve got our medical malpractice system, but I digress…)

Creativity has been shown to improve with distancing oneself from the immediacy of day-to-day life as occurs on vacation.

Chronic stress causes dendrites, the communicating projections between nerve cells in the brain, to shrink in rats.

So how much rest has Obama actually taken?

Obama has spent just 61 days on vacation during 31 months in office. For the sake of comparison, George W. Bush had racked up 180 days at his Crawford, Texas, ranch at the same point in his presidency, and Ronald Reagan had logged 112 days at his ranch in California. (At the other end of the spectrum, Bill Clinton had taken only 28 vacation days 31 months into his first term.)

So after public brinkmanship over the budget deficit, and showing an unwillingness to compromise over several months, do those who demand Obama return to Washington now for more of the same bludgeoning realize their folly? Of course they do.  Not only are they badgering a man trying to reconnect with his family, but they are also placing his health, mental acumen, and by extension our country’s well-being in jeopardy.

And this does not just apply to Obama, Boehner, and the like. Would you rather negotiate with Kim Jong Il right after he gets back from a week partying in Phuket, or after he’s pulled another frustrating all-nighter trying to solve Rubik’s cube?

Let Obama have his vacation.

Let us all have our vacations.

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