Hit the floor running, that's what they say
But there's only so far you can run
In this bricked up place with these
tiled floors filled with sickness, sad-
ness, and sterilization. But that's why I'm here:
To play my part, trying to give comfort to those left behind
Or sooth the ones who lash out when I near them. They're scared, abandoned -
I'm sure that's how they feel. Sometimes, no amount of consoling will make them understand
We're not here to do harm, only try to make things better, even when that
solace comes from a thick, pink anesthetic
Sometimes closing their eyes will be the last
But it's my job to see that those who have a
chance will open their eyes again once more
Even if that means I may be harmed in the process
"Keep fighting, you'll go home soon," I whisper in their ears
But these are the ones who usually don't, and death is not peaceful,
though many wish it was. Some do well, but others just fight every treatment; then, we know.
Chest compressions, IV meds, shouting out orders
The ER becomes contained chaos.
Flash of rapidly moving body parts.
Family on the phone.
We know there's no bringing them back
but we persist.
A twenty-five percent
recovery rate in a healthy patient,
but these are not healthy
The electrocardiogram dips
and peaks with each compression otherwise,
and the doctor calls it
We give a final good-bye,
with a pat on the head or an ear scratch
and we move on with our work, tending to the patients
who still might have a fighting chance, and that's why I'm here -
to do what I can to save these animal, these pets, these family members.
They aren't mine, but they become mine during their stay in our hospital. When the time comes
to say goodbye, in life or death, I cannot fight - only comfort
Knowing that it will go on, and that all I've done
to care for this patient wasn't wasted
And I will do it again each day
Because every life that walks through the door
Is a life that can be treated, can be improved, can be saved.