I'll take any kind of help. Anything that disturbs you is of interest to me. This happened yesterday, so it is raw. I tried it in 1st person first.
E. R. Trip
When your doctor admits he doesn't know,
he sends you to E. R.
You don't mind the Triage Room
where the nurse sorts the needy from the desperate,
you don't mind the waiting room where people
turn and return. You sit and watch the little boy
become a caterpillar under the chairs. You
tolerate the butterfly needle sucking your blood,
take the x-rays, but next is the scan,
the scan with contrasting dyes.
Then you are on a gurney. The nurse explains
she must use a fat needle, even for skinny veins.
You hear her matter-of-fact I'm sorry,
following each blow-out. Frayed nerves.
You cling to Jesus. You cannot move. You want to pee.
Instead, you grit teeth, squint eyes,
pray for her good luck or your quick death.
Another nurse steps in. She hits a vein.
Arm, burning like a fire-cracker. Someone takes
the 30-second scan.
Vein collapses.
You breathe. Tidal anger, alive in you.
Bathroom. Hot packs. Warm blankets.
The E R doctor talks to you. Everything makes sense.
Still when you look down at the blue roses on your arm,
you feel the heat of a furnace in your face.
Tomorrow, you will scan your inner self
another way.
E. R. Trip
When your doctor admits he doesn't know,
he sends you to E. R.
You don't mind the Triage Room
where the nurse sorts the needy from the desperate,
you don't mind the waiting room where people
turn and return. You sit and watch the little boy
become a caterpillar under the chairs. You
tolerate the butterfly needle sucking your blood,
take the x-rays, but next is the scan,
the scan with contrasting dyes.
Then you are on a gurney. The nurse explains
she must use a fat needle, even for skinny veins.
You hear her matter-of-fact I'm sorry,
following each blow-out. Frayed nerves.
You cling to Jesus. You cannot move. You want to pee.
Instead, you grit teeth, squint eyes,
pray for her good luck or your quick death.
Another nurse steps in. She hits a vein.
Arm, burning like a fire-cracker. Someone takes
the 30-second scan.
Vein collapses.
You breathe. Tidal anger, alive in you.
Bathroom. Hot packs. Warm blankets.
The E R doctor talks to you. Everything makes sense.
Still when you look down at the blue roses on your arm,
you feel the heat of a furnace in your face.
Tomorrow, you will scan your inner self
another way.