“I Put My Hand to a Harp”

Today’s selection from Jenny Lind Porter’s book The Lantern of Diogenes and Other Poems, is “I Put My Hand to a Harp”.

I Put My Hand to a Harp

I put my hand to a harp and played:

The blood sprang forth, the blood sprang free;

It wept, “With bone I am but flayed,

O do not whet thy bone on me.”

The spindle lay in my hand; the wheel

Whirred round feebly, whirred round thread:

“Weavest thou sacks for barley meal,

Or coarsely shroudest up the dead?”

I put my hand to the sheath and drew

A sword which glittered, a sword which taught,

“Strike first at death,” and so I slew

Myself upon this point, and wrought.

Every day as a psychiatric consultant in the general hospital and taking care of patients on the Medical-Psychiatry Unit, I try to remember that the patient’s needs always come first. My needs last. However, the residency program here and at other universities run patient care in shifts these days. When I was a resident, we were on call sometimes well over 36 hours at a stretch. Although its debated whether or not that led to bad care for patients, in my opinion the limitation on work hours today is much more humane for both doctors and patients.

Doctors need rest, food, company, and time to reflect when they’re not bone tired. That means not forgetting our physical selves. But letting go of our egos for the sake of our patients is healthy. That sort of “killing” of the ego is the way to empathy.