poem

 Weekend RoundsOn Sundays the hospital Is quiet as a weekday churchThe high-ceilinged atrium Like an empty nave Linoleum floors, long hallsAnd empty waiting area chairsThe silent OR a dull gray catacombThe chaplain down the street At the nursing home The patients are all upstairsSwaddled in beds Behind doors in private roomsLike sins hidden in the heartHollowing out bonesFestering in a stye,Waiting to be tended toBy doctors making rounds.Everyone gets seen —Broken hip, productive coughPost-op colon, rule out MINo one gets a day off.2/5/24

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - February 5, 2024 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs