A Healer I Am Meant To Be


A Healer I Am Meant To Be

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

With these broken sticks and shattered bones,
How will I ever mend?
A healer I’m meant to be, but if I’m taken apart,
I cannot heal no matter how many bells ring.

Over-diseased and understaffed – the world is the problem, not my backyard!

Economics, politics, and things you thought could never matter,
Determine what goes into the batter.
I fought reservations and lakhs of other brains to be here,
Only to find no sanitation or congratulations no matter how much I sharpen my spear;
Twenty four, and still carrying a backpack- not earning enough to even support my own tack.

There’s only so few of us, but they just won’t increase the seats;
There’s only one of each one of you, yet they won’t make as many beds to let your hearts beat,
It isn’t my fault there aren’t enough meds;
It isn’t me that decides how much it will take to fix your head.

They’ll make us work until we don’t dread-the sight, the smell, the feel of the wards;
They’ll expect our brains to function with less food, lesser sleep and absolutely no regard
For the fact that it isn’t right to continue this way with all their might,
Just because it’s been done for all this time, doesn’t necessarily make it right, or even worth the while.

So many books and so many years,
Teach me how to fix your body, but not my tears.
I’m human too, you need to know that;
I’ll bet even He’s still trying to figure how to fix this old spat.

How can you think that after all I endured to be here, that I’d be the one to flatline the ones you hold near and dear?

I know you’re hurt, I know you’re grieving,
I did all I could to ward off this bereavement.
I can’t change the world alone, but I try;
Stay with me so we can fry
The brains that think they’ve sorted it all out,
But actually leave us in the dumps to face the brunt!

Oh, I know what you feel like..
I’ve felt it too, I’ve lost people just like you,
It’s worse when you think there’s someone to blame;
But much worse when you beat up the wrong frame.

Don’t you see they’re hurting you and me? Don’t you see how much better this could be?
Oh, I know what you feel like..
We’re victims of the war alike.

A healer I am meant to be…

Poem written by Shrea Kapoor-MBBS Intern, in the wake of recent attack on doctors by patients’ relatives at KEM Hospital, Mumbai.

1 Comment

  1. Lovely piece that reflects the reality of a doctor’s life in this country! Ritu Bhatia, Health Writer, New Delhi

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