Vial of Air: The Healthcare Crisis

Once upon a dry stick of hope,

When empathy is gone,

Told to cope with pains and falls

Until we snap under bricks

Meant to keep us safe from uncertainty.

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Our health is held up high

By a tent of no replies.

Where are the nurses, doctors, surgeons?

Those who seem to be awfully kind?

“Do you think it’s my bladder?

Something pressing down?

The capacity is low.”

“It’s not our job to go and pry.”

Using a dipstick

To find the answers:

The cheapest, inaccurate exit.

Nothing will be prescribed

When symptoms are consistent.

We are a clinician to the blind;

We are the patient they want to help

But don’t ever want to see.

There is no hope

When the system is in a state of freeze,

Diagnosed by severity,

Waiting until it’s too late,

Voice recording the slow celerity.

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But nurses are used,

We are told.

Doctors abused,

We all know.

Surgeons exploited

By their bosses.

Our appointments they withhold;

Our appointments they delay;

They spend you from day to day

This is how they were all trained.

They’ve been sharpened by their knowledge

But used until they are useless vials of air.