{[ promptMessage ]}

Bookmark it

{[ promptMessage ]}

Fall 2012 Reflection Guidelines

Ungrateful the chart sits on the rack outside the

Info iconThis preview shows page 4. Sign up to view the full content.

View Full Document Right Arrow Icon
UNGRATEFUL The chart sits on the rack outside the door. I rifle through it to find the Chief Complaint, Moaning and groaning inside about my long day, My pounding head, My itchy eyes, My aching calves, The nail I broke this morning, The guy who never called me back. Singing the blues, Feeling sorry for myself, For my poor overworked body For my cluttered and clouded mind For all the things in my life That aren't perfect. The patient suffers from back pain. No different from me, I think, Every day I wake up with sore muscles from the gym, Sore shoulders from sitting hunched over studying. My eye skims the page And I notice her date of birth... It's the same as mine Same month, Same day Same year. I open the door, Nearly recoiling with surprise. At twenty two years old, I'm still a kid Barely able to take care of myself. This woman I see, Is the same age as me? Her hair is disheveled unraveled yarn Next to my locks, smooth and coifed; Her teeth are cracked and missing Next to my pearly whites, straightened by braces; Her clothes are big and bulky, layers to protect her from the cold Next to my silky dress and white doctor's coat. Her eyes struck to the root of my soul. Not even her thick glasses could Shield their dull pain, Their tired black circles Mirrored in my cool green pools. I take a history to discover the problem. She works in a warehouse, Night shift till dawn. It's dusty in there And she lifts heavy boxes Of pampers and formula Eight hours a clip. The pain is so bad she can't sleep at night, She thinks it's a muscle she pulled. "I need a letter for my work," she insists. "Otherwise, they might fire me." When I touch her back she yelps in agony. The muscles are pulpy and tender. I scribble my notes with a smile That masks my dismay. As I leave, I catch my eyes in a mirror. They are rightly filled with shame At my petty mournings. I did nothing to be born Healthy Loved Secure... Pure circumstance, is all. She did nothing to be born Poor Tired Prone to sickness... Pure circumstance, is all. We were born on the same day, My astrological sister, But my stars were lucky. I am not thin. I am not rich. I am not beautiful. My life is not easy. I am not perfect. But today was a sign To stop thinking about what I'm not And to use what I am To help others. - Janice M. Mehnert
Background image of page 4
This is the end of the preview. Sign up to access the rest of the document.

{[ snackBarMessage ]}