ENG 211 TCC English Spoken Word and Poetry Discussion Response – Description
Think about how it would be read aloud as you structure it. This is not the
same as the “prose poem” described in Unit #2 (in terms of the layout).
Topics: Poem 1 Bestfriends (what it means to you) Poem 2 Enemies (What it means to you)
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Respond to this DB Poem Post:
Embraced by Healing
Prose Format
A hospital is hallowed ground, a symphony of life and death unfolding within its walls. Each step a nurse or doctor takes has a rhythm of purpose, a destination in mind, whether it be a hospital room or the cafeteria. The air is thickened with antiseptic, tears, and hope for those who have healed or who still have a ways to go. Hallowed ground, a sanctuary, and yet a place of frustration for many. Especially me.
But it is not just in a hospital I find frustration with the medical system. It is with doctors in general. See, nurses, clad in colorful scrubs can move with grace, and their hearts beat in sync with their patients. Their hands, unlike that of a doctor, offer comfort and care. Like angels, they guard the wellbeing of their wards with compassion, empathy, and kindness. Doctors were not afforded the same abilities.
“This is your fault for not losing weight,” one would say.
“You aren’t in a bad enough condition for us to do anything yet,” said another.
Fire dancing along my ribs and shoulder blades were crippling me to the point I could not stand. Anything I tried to consume would quickly find its way out again. I came to live amongst those walls. The rooms became small worlds, the murals and artwork made to entertain those much younger than me swirling together into a blue of pain and nausea. The beep of the monitor became an electronic symphony, a reminder of life as it measured heartbeats, breaths, and blood pressure.
My parents gathered, hearts heavy with sorrow and frustration at the doctor’s lack of sympathy, and their lack of action. Covered in sweat as I fought the pain, the nurses my only help, my family had to wait until I was vomiting blood for the doctors to come in, like the hero who saves the day, to take me to surgery.
The operating room, home to hands skilled at wielding tools of transformation, was cold, and silent. The monitor was all one could hear, the steady beeping ready to lull the victim, well, patient, to sleep. One minute it’s bright, as I lay on my back staring up at the light, and the next, darkness, until I am awoken by the pain in my stomach, now missing an organ.
“We should have acted sooner.” This was the first thing they said. For images, despite how progressed they have become, do not reveal everything. My condition, much worse than originally thought, led to lengthier surgery and a lengthier time my parents had to sit and wait in fear. Time makes its own path in hospitals. Days, nights, hours, blend together into irrelevancy. Instead of minutes, you focus on progress. I ate solid food today. Soon, I can be released.
On this hallowed ground, a delicate blend of science and artistry exists. The technology of the futures mixes with the compassion of humanity, and the expertise of skilled artists. It is a beacon of hope, and the resilience of humans. So even with the frustrations many feel, take the time to honor the hospital and all those who work and rest among their walls. They are the true unsung heroes.
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