A poem for you that isn’t very Christmasy.

Dedicated to all my Surgery pals…

MEMBERS OF THE CLUB

Before you knew…
before your family
could hear the news…
a small group of us huddled over
an incision in your belly.
There, revealed to only us—
the yellow-white growth
that is not normal in the liver.
Insidious.
Deadly.
And we knew…
no biopsy needed.

The surgeon stopped her hands
and looked around the table,
eyes weary.
With that look,
we were all sworn to secrecy.
Members of
the Club of Confidential Information
No One Wants to Know.

The circulating nurse
let a tear slip from her eye.
She thought no one saw.
The scrub tech busied himself,
straightening the back table.
Assisting, I silently prayed that God
would waste no time in deciding
to cure you or free you.

I handed the surgeon a 3-0 chromic suture.
Taking a deep breath, she said,
“Let’s close.”