To the neurosurgeon, who would not let me speak
So far behind schedule you had no time to greet
Even though, eighteen months, I'd waited for your time
You used my appointment to reduce your queue line
I know I'm just a number to cross off your list
Still, your abrupt words struck me in gut like a fist
As when fired at with questions and tones of disdain
I crumbled to nothing, my mind screaming in vain
For this is my life Sir, everyday without fail
Everyday precarious... becoming more frail
Came to you in desperation, just wanting advice
Hoping you could give me back some quality of life
Yet, you'd no time for me, no compassion to give
With hostile impatience drained my hope through a sieve
Left me with nothing and in worse shape than I'd come
Performance of ego set to clocks ticking drum
What I had wanted to ask you was all written down
Yet, when suggested you read it was met with a frown
As your time Sir, was too precious to waste aiding me
All my answers, to your questions, were right there to see
So now I'm left traumatised worse off than before
No place to turn now... how much more must I endure?
Like you Sir... once was healthy, I did nothing wrong
Not of surrender... it’s one of fight, my swan song
For you see I've a family I cannot give up
Who, even though I'm floundering, surround me with love
I guess I'll seek another then and rejoin the queue
As time with my family is, to me, precious too
So next time you're behind Sir... wanting someone to blame
Please, remember these words, don't let it happen again
As your prey maybe that day at the end of their rope
Without a family, energy... lost of all hope
As with your title Sir, comes responsibilities
Your paid to heal not bring vulnerable to their knees
I ask... how good is a doctor who's no time to care
Who has knowledge, experience... yet, no time to share
© Debbie Razey 2019 - Violet Moon Poetry
