5:30 on a Thursday afternoon, two patients yet to see,
I roll my eyes at the charted chief complaintUTIs
should come in earlier! We'll be here all night waiting
for a specimen from a two-year-old!
So I stride
into the room to launch my introduction
and my agenda, to find the toddler nursing
on mom's lap and a young dad
in a hockey jersey with the Bruins logo
shushing me, finger to lips, whispering,
"Don't talk! If he hears you he'll start
to cry and you won't see how he's breathing! Look at that!"
And it was almost as if the shade
of Alfred Kussmaul had come back
to hover there among us, still puzzled
at these labored breaths, those puckered lips.
And I kept quiet, and touched his doughy skin
and complimented the both of them
for being such meticulous observers, and put
a call in to the ER. . . . [Full Text of this Article]