The Yale Journal for Humanities in Medicine

The Weight on the Doctor’s Wife

“My husband is not yet forty, but he is bowed over like an old man from all the bodies on his back.”

I
first person
singular
am one of the dying her husband
or someone almost exactly like him
carries on his back

I had forgotten that
I remembered as she spoke
dusting my attic

The first time cancer called
despite the shock of surgery
the ravishment of radiation
it never occurred to me that
like all of us
I
first person singular
was going on that second journey

More fortunate than most
my ticket came with an almost departure date
if not a final destination
comforting in a way
certainly livable
and there was
strangely enough
no contradiction in that

Cancer’s second coming worried me
a subplot thread through the entirety
of my now
as I waited in the bomb shelter located
somewhere in the dark of me
for the all clear from pathology
seldom thinking of the heft or feel of the harness
of the weight of my wait
on the strong shoulders of your heart
his heart
or the heart of someone almost exactly like him

The third and then the fourth time cancer called
I began to see a lot more of poor me
and less of you
second person
universal
forgive me

Please
if I have failed to remember some
particular thing you gifted me
some small wonder that made me
what I am
gave me life
the earth
flowers
any time or season
the night stars when the moon has disappeared
forgive me

I
have made my peace with it
with them
the stars I mean

The moon and all her secret places
are no longer separate but
a part of me
integrated with my being as
you
are

Please
if I have failed to demonstrate the strength
the strength of your hand and heart exactly as they touched me
moved me
melded and molded as a no longer separate part of me
forgive me

I understand the desert cold and hot
the barren land
the kiss of rain awakening
know what waiting is in dark and light
hope and hopeless have intertwined and now
I am what is

Please
if I have failed and failed again
to explain to you such meaning
as is particularly mine
or mine alone
need to ask
when does the heart flow
again
forgive me

This poem was written after hearing Sayantani DasGupta read from her essay, “The Doctor’s Wife,” published in the Hastings Center Report, volume 37, number 2, at David Watts’ Writing the Medical Experience, July 11, 2007. The quote is from her essay, and used with her thanks and permission.

Published: November 25, 2007