…into a grin as I walk into the room.
You have an infectious smile.
I have been so afraid to see you today,
that I have left you for last.
“I’m glad it’s you!
You’re always optimistic and bringing good news”, you say.
I had planned to make it quick
and leave the dressing of your wounds
to the nurse.
But I have left you for last,
and now I have time.
I clean the pins of your external fixator
with great care.
No one will dress your wounds
more lovingly
than I am doing today.
You are one of my favourite patients
and I
need you to know it.
Day before yesterday,
you cried.
My heart broke
for you.
Your situation
is understandable. Young,
healthy, with a broken
leg. Impatient.
Tomorrow,
just as we are about to leave
your bedside,
my boss will ask you
about the bandage on your left arm.
I will look away and freeze
in painful anticipation.
“Oh, that’s nothing”,
you will say.
Yesterday,
my colleague said he had asked you
to cover up the tattoo on your left arm.
“Have you seen it?”
No, I hadn’t.
“I think he’s just a silly person”,
another colleague had offered.
“People like him burn down buildings
full of asylum seekers.
You’ll let him off easy because you
think he’s silly?!
Either way, it’s illegal
to wear that tattoo
visibly,
so I’ve asked him
to cover it up or
I’ll report him to the police”
I had no idea how to react.
“Don’t worry,
it isn’t your problem
to solve, it’s mine”, he said.
But my relief was short-lived when
I remembered
that I would be doing ward rounds
alone the next day.
I have been so afraid
to see you
today, that
I have left you
for last.
And as I leave your room
after dressing your wounds, I
realise that
I still
don’t know what your left arm
looks like and
I am not here only
for the Hippocratic Oath
You are still
one of my favourite patients.