I learned to diagnose,
to salve suffering,
or at least attempt it.
I tried to console
when medicine could not
heal, and when it could, too.
Each day added
another petiole,
a shoot or two,
sometimes even a leaf.
I grew slowly,
case by case.
The years elided
one into the next
and life passed all but unwitnessed
until a glimpse of cast-off
photographs at the back
of a forgotten drawer
awakened me with a jolt.
How did my spouse live when I was
still waiting for life to begin?
Now on the cusp of adulthood,
my daughter’s eyes from well over
a decade ago catch mine. Playful, carefree—
an intimate moment with passing friends.
She was small.
I still feel young,
but the thinning leaves of my own canopy
herald the coming autumn.
How can the journey be so far spent?
Permission to reprint granted to the American Society of Anesthesiologists by copyright author/owner.
2023
