here there be tygers

when i got to work, i heard screaming.

someone was screaming in a harsh, ragged voice, "i want to call my MOTHER!" a medical student, a housekeeper, and an orderly were standing outside a bedroom door looking in. a small asian woman with anorexia was walking rapidly up and down the hall past them, up and down, over and over, burning calories.





downstairs, i let a former patient in through the locked front door. she was carrying a suitcase, trembling and asking would i talk to her, alone, today? then she burst into a sudden smile and in a little-girl voice asked, "you're not really a doctor, are you?" no, ma'am. just a student. she is a fifty-year-old doctor's wife with anorexia who tried to overdose over the weekend. "maybe i won't have to stay?" she asked, returning to trembling piteousness. her grown-up daughter at her side said tiredly, "nope. you're staying."

she said, "you have to tell them the truth this time."
you have to tell them the truth this time.
you have to tell them the truth this time.





the children's ward is full. in every bed a patient. the day is just beginning: monday morning, seven a.m., ice storm outside. in developing nations, and in scandinavian nations, in other words, elsewhere, folks have psychotic episodes, but they get better. i guess it helps to not take medicine. good luck not prescribing, though.





meanwhile, we have trembling, screaming, and marching marching marching. my prayer today is to gather up love, gather it up like ribbons attached to hearts on one end, like sunbeams stretching to the clouds on one end, like gathering up the reins of spooked or wild horses, gather up love to make a magic wish that is a perpetual wish.

defend and strengthen us. make suffering temporary. show us new lives. lead us out of human cruelty. amen.