April 4: My Job, the Surgery Center, "History & Physical"

On the day I leave my job at the surgery center, I found this poem that I wrote some seven years ago.  Not sure if it's any good.

But Saint Marty's sister would have liked it . . .


History & Physical

Chief Complaint:  pelvic pain.

History of Present Illness:  pelvic pain for eight days, started at granddaughter's high school graduation when patient saw granddaughter in cap and gown, realized she looked exactly like patient's daughter who died three years ago of ovarian cancer on a December night, holding patient's hand, whispering about warm bread and raspberry jam.

Past Medical History:  pelvic pain, sense of emptiness, the way a dining room table seems empty when a child goes to school, finds a boyfriend/girlfriend, gets married, has children.

Past Surgical History:  tonsillectomy at age eight, Cesarean at 22, patient sometimes rubs C-section scar in middle of night until it burns under her touch, like an infant with an ear infection.

Social History:  lives in Michigan, winters in Florida, can't stand cold weather or snow any more, reminds her of things she's lost:  her father's buffalo nickel, sound of her mother's voice, smell of her daughter's just-washed hair.

Allergies:  aspirin, Tylenol, shellfish, grief.

Medications:  Coumadin to thin blood, avoid coagulation, clots, pulmonary embolisms that sit in your chest like forgotten love letters, waiting to be opened.

Physical Examination:

     HEENT:  Within normal limits (WNL).

     HEART:  Enlarged, empty, the Grand Canyon at midnight.

     LUNGS:  WNL

     ABDOMEN:  WNL

     EXTREMITIES:  WNL

     NEURO:  WNL

     OTHER:  WNL

Impression:  pelvic pain, phantom, incurable.

Plan:  discharge to home after observation, avoid winter ice, smell of baking rye bread, sound of school bells.