Test Anxiety

At times, I may feel hot, other times I may be cold.

Perhaps I will be hesitant, and surely I will be too bold

My mind may be filled with clutter, and my heart all-a-flutter

I may feel thirsty, and have to pee

I may be hungry for all kinds of things

Yet my mind will get through the day, dragging my body with it all the way

My body serves me faithfully, I acknowledge gratefully

When at last the exam and I meet

I want to feel fully present

I want my chakras to be perfectly aligned

I want to get the crick out of my spine

I want to empty doubts out of my mind

And fill my eyes with only you

As we dance I will try not to misstep

I want to remain steadily energized, aware of every breath

Fully focused and feeling fine

With you, I want to have enough time

After our time together, when I emerge anew into the fresh air, I want to think of you and smile

I realize that my chakras, like my spine, are always slightly out of line

I know that my rebellious mind refuses to ever stop itself from running wild

Have I ever danced without fumbling around?

Even with these imperfections, I still marvel at these reflections:

Although the ideal may never meet the real, I still think of you, and smile

Workaholic

I went into medicine partly due to heartbreak

The exhaustive training of medical school and residency was a welcome albeit ineffective distraction from my sorrow and loneliness

24-hour shifts are a convenient justification for not keeping in touch with loved ones

Even though the real excuse is my social anxiety and sense of inadequacy

Living within hospital walls, I suspect that I am not the only physician who became a medical doctor to try to forget unrequited love, to escape the world of human relationships

My older colleagues work far more than they need to to make ends meet, far more than any reasonable person would work in a week

Who needs friends or feelings when you have patients and science?

Our skin grows pale under fluorescent lights

Our vision becomes shortsighted as the screens stare unblinkingly

Our hearts forget how to feel carefree

Our muscles atrophy as our brains hypertrophy

Our minds become boxed in with facts, our mental filing cabinets overflow

I am a recovering workaholic working alongside workaholics who do not appear to be in recovery

Perhaps they suspect the same of me

Heads down in the trenches, none of us can know another’s heart

We can only know our own heart, if we listen

We carefully administer medications, surgeries and therapies

We measure progress in numerical metrics of lab values, calculated scores and vital signs

We arrive early and stay late

We work day and night without a break

We always have too much on our plates

We deprive ourselves of sleep, fresh air and food

We know why we have irritable moods

Practicing medicine is an unhealthy, imbalanced lifestyle and we know it

We can only ever heal ourselves

I’m ready to show it

I am finally healing my broken heart

I found that I had to begin at the start

Childhood wounds tangle and bloom

Trauma begets trauma until we change our thoughts, words and actions

Breaking old patterns even as we hold traction

I am love itself, I am the source of what I sought

My cup overflows, it was not all for naught