Category Archives: Medical

A dementia patient’s story

a poem by

Everything around me seems to be an illusion,
The present is Incomprehensible- beyond my perception.
I am an old woman – a dementia patient
Hallucinations and delusions are imminent.
I want to hold on to my fond memories,
But the milestones in my life are all forgotten places.
I try to reach out to take control
While I try mend my tormented soul.
My entangled brain eludes reasoning and reality
A stranger takes over but that is just not me.
All my loved ones are all gone to be with the stars
Here I am still left behind numb with my fears.
Hold me tight, my dear children, remember you are my heartbeat
My love for you will remain with me for eternity.

DOCTORS

a poem by

Are we machines or human?

Rest, I don’t know when
Our only break is with the book
Not even time to eat or cook
Engaged all the time with a bunch of patients to look

Our life revolves around books, patient and hospital
We are always on the toe waiting for the next bell
What is sleep, I forgot
Calls in the middle of the night
When we just begin to roll our eyes and sleep tight

Home and entertainment seems alien
Hospital is our main home and den
Is our life meant to be sacrificed this way
Will there be some happiness and entertainment some day
After all these hard work… our salary is not even upto an engineers pay

Doctor profession was once called noble
But now I would rather modify it and call horrible
Slog and work is not the only motive and aim

God gave us life not to just take care of lives but also for ourselves to live too

We are also humans
Not any machines or god
We too need a normal life… Oh Lord!

Sonnet- The Doctor is Human too

a poem by

The man who heals has not a heart of stone;
From bricks and mortar, his body isn’t made;
Like you, he is as much flesh, blood and bone,
And suffers from much stress and is ill paid.

Sometimes, his best of knowledge can’t help him;
His decisions are fraught with blunders too;
He wages battles to save lives so grim;
When life has left body, what can he do?

He faces many ethical questions;
Sometimes, things go awry, unexpected;
Don’t blame him squarely for all kinds of sins;
He’s a public figure respected.

The doctor helps, God is the one who heals!
The patient’s fate, God is the one who seals.

Sonnet- The H.I.V. Victim

a poem by

‘Tis sad to see the H.I.V. victim,
Bedridden lie, melting away like snow;
And all the while, he knows his life is grim;
As DEATH unfolds grimacingly, his FOE.

Tho’ seemed life rosy just some months ago;
One blunder made, threatens his life somehow;
It looks as if he fell down from a bough,
A lethal fall that takes his life fast now.

He knows the blunder made was very grave;
No use, it is to fret and fume right now;
Had he, his common-sense used, God him gave,
Prematurely to Death, he need not bow.
Fie, DEATH, unkindly thou now grabs his neck,
When lies he, mental, physical, a wreck.

Sonnet- Genes Matter But

a poem by

No longer secret’s the genome of man!
The gene make-up of all beasts will be known;
Man’s actions and misdeeds, alter none can,
Except man himself, using his mind own.

How can the new knowledge of genes prevent
The growing crimes against men in this world?
For his grave sins unless man can repent,
He will suffer in hell or when he’s old.

The society’s problems, man must resolve,
Thro’ self-control and love of his neighbour;
By brotherhood of nations, man can solve,
Most of the problems and make earth better.
Knowing one’s genes is not the solution;
Know thine own mind by self-realization.

Sonnet- Evils of Alcohol

a poem by

The glass of spirit that you hold aloft,
Could ruin lives of own and loved ones all;
And making it a habit to drink oft,
Can cause the inebriated ones’ fall.

Oh, it is not a drink unto one’s health!
It shrinks the liver, stomach ulcerates;
The drunkard squanders all his hard-earned wealth,
And dies a cruel death before classmates.

When Alcohol can kill the valiant,
Why gulp it down one’s throat and buy trouble?
With ease shed addiction, a person can’t;
The drunken driver will see things, double.
Before the Killer-brew can take one’s life,
Give up the habit and attendant strife.

The Medicine

a poem by

It is now on for such a long time,
Its about time they called it a miracle,
I thought it would end soon but I was proven wrong,
How by the sheer gift of hope she just lived on.

They told it was cancer, that they could do nothing,
But she proved it to them that they needn’t do anything at all,
She would see through the darkness as if it never existed,
And wake up every morning to stand on her legs, unassisted.

The doctors have grown bald, the nurses have grown fat,
And those who were bachelors are now caring dads,
The hospital is running out of patients,
Getting sick is so out of style,
As everyone seems cured and healthy after seeing her salubrious smile.

Do you smoke?

a poem by

The first question the doctor asked me
when I visited him for my throat
“Do you smoke?”
“No”
“But you smoked before?”
“Sorry, but no I’ve never smoked”
the doctor looked sad and sighed.
Put a wooden stick in my mouth
told me to say “A”
Looked up in his medicine book
and gave me some tablets to chew.

Cancer Crusaders Combine

a poem by

Compassion to companionship,
Asked in pain and agony,
Never received the same wanted the most,
Cared all to spill around me the pills to swallow,
Enabling the manufacturers and traders of pills,
Raise their income at the cost of their hapless victim.

Cradle to courts I crawled,
Rowing boats and riding cars,
Under the sky, over the surface and water,
Seeking compassion and companionship,
Always I longed for but eluded so far,
Drowning even my dreams,
Engaged in consoling me the pain and agony,
Rarely getting sleep I sat day dreaming,
Saving the companionship of my own pain and agony.

Christened me as cancer,
Oh! I am blessed to live in this paradise,
Mother earth provided enough to satisfy man’s need,
But the greed of a few deprived others of their basic needs,
In my death-bed while I breath the last,
New light beams showing me cure that is air, water and earth,
Environment that I hitherto destroyed is a panacea to prevent cancer.

The perilous disease SARS : The nebulous media bar

a poem by

After “AIDS”, now we are forced to confront the dreaded disease “SARS”
Sometimes, I really wish it was possible to leave the earth and settle on MARS.

The 21st century is not immune to new and deadly diseases has been proved by “SARS”
They seem to break out and proliferate with the frequency of Delhi’s cars.*

(Delhi has more vehicles than Bombay, Calcutta and Chennai combined)

Just as a body (Hindu) on being burnt after death chars
The same affect can be created on the mind by spreading baseless rumors on SARS.

“Viveka” or discrimination is endemic in our culture; it is all right to glamorize film stars
The greatest degree of circumspection and restraint in reporting is essential on SARS.

Stress and Depression being the challenges of 21st century,
one cannot afford any psychological bimars*.
On hearing false news and views of a disease like SARS

(*Bimar means sick person in Hindi)

Not only individuals, false information can sometimes affect whole families or parivars*,
There just cannot afford to be any false reporting in matters like SARS.

(*Parivar means family in Hindi)

If proved false, there cannot be a greater farce
“Fear of diseases being deadly”; ask those psychologically affected by diseases like SARS.

Whenever one hears of a new disease because of the fallout of a new virus,
The doctors have to fight a battle that reminds one of the one between Alexander and Porus.*

(Porus was one of the most valiant kings in History who stood up to Alexander the great)

The symptoms of SARS are high fever, coughing, breathing difficulty and Pneumonia,
To the doctors, it is giving sleepless nights and causing Insomnia.

Whether or not the diagnosis requires an X-ray,
Even in the 21st century, doctors are finding it difficult to keep such diseases at bay.

Every time the virus is found in some new patient’s blood,
There is a reaction of a major catastrophe; in the media there is a verbal flood.

Whether or not it requires blood, urine and other samples,
Blind panic can be avoided by exaggerating and highlighting numerous examples.

To really fight the outbreak of any disease
The media should downplay it a little, instead of exaggeration, it should try to cease.

What is really required is for the doctors to get quietly and effectively busy,
Unnecessary panic created by the media sometimes cannot make their job easy.

In unnecessarily highlighting certain commons Symptoms,
The media can create the kind of adverse reaction witnessed on pinching a lady’s bottoms.

If blind panic is not to spread among the public, actual and the prospective patients,
The media has to be guarded in what it mentions.

To avoid an epidemic, just as incoming patients are screened.
It is equally important that negative news too is smartly preened.

While awareness of the disease is no doubt essential,
Irresponsible highlighting and sensationalisation has far more damaging potential.

What is really required of the government is effective surveillance
Only then, the medical fraternity and the patients too can practically fight with resilience.

If the disease has to be fought on a war footing,
The media has to restrain itself in reporting; whether in printing or shooting.

More important than whether or not the virus spreads
Is the psychological factor; its vital that no child, man or woman unnecessarily dreads

Even if one is to accept the fact that the virus may prove to be fatal
“Mind over matter” cases have proved in History that psychology is equally vital.

Whether or not such viruses mutate
A similar metamorphosis in people’s mind cannot be allowed to perpetuate.

If one goes by the dictum ” Unconventional maladies have unconventional remedies”
Unconventional reporting can prevent adverse affects on children, Gents and ladies.

One has to see hard facts and show how many people actually got infected,
There should be no preconceived notions and people should not get falsely affected.

The govt. and medical people have to be on a red alert,
The media has to go in the opposite direction; it should not unnecessarily spurt.

In this case, the media has to be judicious in being the public’s guide,
It does not have to go out of the way to show how many people got infected worldwide.

If it is really over keen to show how many people died,
The media should also consider how in the battle of Mahabharat, Yudhisthir* lied.

(A character in India’s epic serial Mahabharat
known for speaking the truth lied mildly when the situation called for it)

In such cases especially, “Perception of reality is more important than reality.”
It has been proved that in addition to the body, it is the mind that has to retain its vitality.

The causes of a disease are confirmed by the World health Organization,
The causes of panic can be avoided only on the media’s realization.

Even if the govt. is able to set up the requisite infrastructure.
What is the point if the psyche of the patient already suffers from multiple fracture.

As claimed sometimes by the govt; if the disease is a false Alarm
The actions of the media can cause irreversible harm.

Nobody can dispute the fact that the media has to make the public aware,
However the slightest overexposure in such cases can cause panic; it should be beware.

On such important matters, the media cannot afford to display nonchalance,
Much more important in such cases however is to maintain balance.

To sum it up, I would say that whether it is Cancer, AIDS or SARS.
Battling the disease may not be as difficult as fighting the psychological scars.

The Doctor

a poem by

All us patients agree
he is a caring man with perfect bedside manners,
night or day he always came when needed.

We sympathise with his plight,
his wife, who walks into furniture and often falls
get bruised
wear sunglasses to hide black eyes.

Harsh

a poem by

Backdoor income, she drugged him
Shrewd woman without a sun
Tactics, hold man
Reproduce more bums
To street walk
Unkind words?
Erase AIDS
Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome
From AIRS
Avenues Industries Religions Senses
Only, Aware and Self Wisdom
Not can, help external!

Dialysis

a poem by

Every one talking to each other
Perhaps trying to solve the issue in vain
The sister opens the door and calls
A patient in to the dialysis room.
The technician pricks two thick needles,
And connects the tubes to the filter (dialyser),
And asks the weight, and the sister checks
The blood pressure and the patient
Lies on bed for four hours.
In the first hour the attendees come in
To give the patient edibles to eat
As advised by the technicians-
Blood gets cleaned and gives strength,
And also edibles permitted-
Which are not included in diet, list.

I sometimes eat or sometimes feel uneasy.
Sometimes the blood pressure goes down
As the machine sucks the water from the blood
And immediately saline is been given.
And technician says not to drink more water.
My father comes in and feeds me,
And goes back, finds the same place
Or if occupied by others- O’ it pains me,
Poor pops got to suffer along with me.
I feel guilty, but not my fault- blame I
My fate or the maker of it.
He also gave me a new RX and took it back.
I see the buyer riding with a girl friend sitting back.
Every one is tired, from where to get money, I’m gonna
Survive until I have or if govt. provides subsidy.

The hollow words

a poem by

Every day I walked to see the holy man
Cheeks quite chubby, beard not very long,
And a green turban on his head.
Holding a school bag over his shoulder
Months after I met him
I got to know the secret of inside.
Well, nothing to hide, ‘tis a bag full of pens collected.
Don’t know what part the pens play.
And a piggy bank to collect money.
His timings are unscheduled,
Around noon or an hour before he
Comes out of his house which he calls
His sisters residence, and walks till night
And finds a place to sit until the call of birds.
As he talks it seems like the words of a Puerile.
But the matured old man is aware
Of everything, even if it is concealed
Or surreptitious, understood by chosen few.
He murmurs to his self, but not in one’s reach.
But thru his strange language he speaks
The point of the compass.
Which may be advantageous and remedial.
Each word of the sage goes no extra.
If our brains are pointed enough to comprehend.
We would see no sorrow but a bright aftertime.
He preaches no religion but humanity.
The mystical man is aware of the material world
Yet considers it not, the patience he bears.
Though he is near not, I feel him near
Everywhere I walk, he is in my sense
The one for illumination I rely on
He knows the self; he’s seen the skies,
He is aware of morrow; he knows the past.
He is in everything, every speech,
He is my preceptor and I’m his disciple.