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Bardo 1d
My doctor wanted to give me the results of a blood test so asked me to come down
As I sat there listening to him meandering on about cholesterol, blood pressure, vitamin deficiencies
I got fed up and cut in on him suddenly
"Look Doc don't sugarcoat it, how long have I got ?"
He said "What do you mean, you're still in pretty good shape, you have a few things you gotta watch...
Again I cut in on him "I appreciate you're trying to break it to me easy Doc
But y'know I don't mind, as long as I...as long as I just get some nice big fancy disease with a big fancy name on it
Not one of those ould common garden type diseases that everyone gets
Something that'd make them all jealous envious
They'd all be looking at their own boring little diseases saying
"I wish I had a disease like his, with a big fancy name on it
Not this ordinary little disease that I've got
They'd be all looking over thinking
He must be a very special type of guy to have gotten such a big fancy disease like that...

The ****** of a doctor, he went and charged me 60 Euros
Now... now that hurt.
A bit of fun.
Rajnandini Jan 17
"Dad I want to be a doctor" nine-year-old said,
Dad replied, "Doctors would not leave their bread".
"Come on dad, I don't want to eat"
"Doctor makes sure their breakfast is complete."
He angrily went out "bye-bye dad"
Thought to himself, "Is not eating breakfast, that bad?"
He studied hard, day and night,
Dad's words were "Make me proud, be my light"
He completed MBBS, with skills so fine,
Now he can make his dad proud, all the time.

One day, a call "Can I have a word?"
2:56pm, his dad's voice was last heard.
He ran to his house, his mom frowning,
his heart skipped a beat with white surrounding.
Dd was his strength, his luck, his power,
now his dad is rounded with flower.
Close to dad's ear, remembering the past,
he whispered, "Dad I am now a doctor, I had my breakfast."
This poem tells the story of a boy who dreams of becoming a doctor to make his dad proud. Despite his dad's initial skepticism, the boy works hard and achieves his goal. Tragically, his dad passes away before he can see his son's success. The poem highlights the themes of determination, hard work, and the bittersweet nature of achieving a dream after losing a loved one.
Kaiden Jan 7
Needles injected into my body,
Machines everywhere,
The concerned nurses whispering to each other.
The tests and
The forgotten fear of needles,
Define my existence.
I am a test subject,
Nothing wrong but nothing right.
And they will continue
Until it's too late.
Since i was a child i had really bad dizziness and sometimes fainting, all of that getting worse over time. Since i was 12 ive been getting multiple tests but no one knows what's wrong. I literally got used to needles (i used to have panic attacks just seeing them). I feel like a ******* test subject.
David P Carroll Dec 2024
The doctor was arrested
Whose actions to help the sick  
And feed the poor and
He faced a **** court's wrath
Greed and power the driving force
Leaving a trail of dead bodies
We need to stand united
To fight the corrosion
And reclaim the integrity
The true vision.
Health workers on X demand release of senior Palestinian doctor
Who was arrested by the Israeli army.

#freeDr. Hussam Abu Safia.
Sudzedrebel Nov 2024
The juxtaposition betwixt
Hope & agony is often sharp,
Short but sudden.
Yet, is pain not longer suffered
All the times worse?
And of the flames snuffed?
Is this not the worst?
Of our fatigues,
They are addressed only in comfort,
Dressed by the garbs of one who understands
Our needs for medicine.
For the soul downtrodden
And the body corrupted,
As healers or like doctors,
Those whom we love enough to be as companions.
For the best remedy of any wound is care,
Borne out of love & not necessity
But because they wish to be there.
Àŧùl Sep 2024
I remember that I had promised,
That girl from Chandigarh,
I had promised...

I promised to sing,
So, in her memory, I sing...

I promised to smile,
So, in her memory, I smile..

I also promised to laugh,
So, in her memory, I laugh.
My HP Poem #1995
©Atul Kaushal
Robert Ronnow May 2024
I have a special interest in telling about my colonoscopy.
The doc cheerful, secure in his specialty, colon cancer being
the second leading cause of cancer death after lung tumors.
They can snip the precancerous polyps right out of you during the test.
At first the doc gave me the statistics but having paid 25 bucks for this
      interview
I decided to make him explain the science. He was most comfortable
describing the physical architecture of adenomatous v. hyperplastic
      polyps
but what about cell structure I said. He was vague about genes and
      hormones,
I could have been chatting with an Electrolux salesman.
I wasn’t worried although my *** was burning.
Everybody dies, everybody, even Whitman and Emerson, so I browse
      models for dying—
mine are middlebrow, saddlebow—John Wayne in The Shootist, Paul
      Newman in Hombre—or hagiography
Plath her head stuck in an oven, Hemingway who ate his shotgun.
Anyway I was upbeat flirting with the nurse, a muse who has seen it all
      before,
acting tough, which isn’t actually an act
you do your prep and say your prayers.
I thought I’d be in and out **** as you probably already know
the prep for this procedure is worthy of Gandhi. A day of fasting,
clear fluids only, and constant voiding.
You arrive at the hospital one spiritual chicken.
I reflected it can’t hurt, lose a little weight, remember who you are
without so much **** and flesh between you and the natural world.
Snipping polyps is like taking electrons to a lower quantum energy level,
      nearer the nucleus, with fasting and ****** abstinence.
The art of total presence and abstinence, dependence on the Other for
      future existence.
We walk among hero’s every day.
And they are recognised,
But not merely enough.
They all fight on the same team,
They don’t always have the same uniforms,
But they fight for you, out of love.
They get paid sure, just about,
But it doesn’t keep them there,
It’s their compassion.

They suffer long hours, and bad pay,
Overworked, overwhelmed,
Something we need to refashion.
Yet they continue, fighting for your health,
Mending wounds, treating disease,
Doing their all, doing what they can.
They do it with a smile, a friendly face,
They do it agile, and with grace,
Yet they’re just human, not Superman.
They’re on the frontline, hands on,
They’re behind the scenes,
Each a cog, in a massive machine.
But this machine is built by living parts,
And they’re breaking more and more,
Physically, emotionally, everything in between,
Yet they carry on.
They continue to fight.
A battle never won.
Recognised and praised,
These are our heroes,
Recognised, revered, yet still unsung.
Joining a NHS Trust in a digital team, I saw the clinical teams first hand, as well as the admin and "back" staff. I wrote this on a break. Not really Proof read it.
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