The patterns of the flesh

A wrongness beckons when I start walking-

what have I forgotten?

before, it was the opposite, fear striking

after I'd launched unassisted from a chair

the woman I was striding away as I faltered

I learned too well from fear.

the woman I was clings with weak fingers

can I move on again from myself?

Like air

I fought for her as she held
her diamond breath in her
hands, close
close to her chest
finite and precious
saving it carefully, losing it
every other word

When I returned
heavy-laden from long hours
she smiled
took my hand and prayed
and I felt
the breath I had given her
being returned

Healing

"Your kidneys have shut down.
There's nothing I can do.
I'm so sorry."
Her husband held her as she cried.
Later, I came back.
We talked of the power
of The Great Physician.
I prayed for her.
She clutched my hands in thanks
And I realized
That in my helplessness

I had offered true medicine.

55 words

I fell down a little narrative medicine hole today, and in so doing, I found a writing mechanism called the 55-word story.  There is an excellent discussion of this mechanism in this JAMA article from 2017.  Writing is a tool for processing, reflection, entertainment, teaching, and so much more.  But sometimes you just don't have any bloody time.  Enter this tiny sliver of writing!  It's almost a game - 55 words exactly, no more, no less, but in any format you'd like - and completing one is terribly satisfying.

I am going to start doing this, and I hope it will be a regular event.  Here is today's story.