by Xiaowei William (Bill) Su MSIV
I met her when she was only four
They just moved to town; she needed shots
She heard me talking, asked, “Can I play with Harriet Lane?”
Clutching an examination glove balloon walking out the door.
At ten she was so confident!
Softball practice and slumber parties in fifth grade,
Gave me a drawing – does my tie really look like that?
Wrote: “For the grown-up who makes me feel better” (What a compliment!)
In high school she dyed her hair,
Blonde with green and red streaks – really bold
I saw this when it gave her a rash
Her mother scolded “I told you so!” (Her reply: “What do I care?”)
At eighteen she was so excited, but also wistful,
Moving two states for university, needed a checkup
I asked her what she wanted to study
“Literature, Art… maybe even Biology! But dissections make me bristle.”
Sophomore year I saw her before finals, time didn’t seem right
“Great to see you, but why are you home?”
She replied something… all I heard was “mom” and “cancer”
Had come asking about staging, prognosis… I didn’t sleep that night.
I came for the funeral as a family friend
She looked like – was – a college senior
Talked like someone ten years older
For once I was at a loss for words… she said to me, “by the way, I’ll be studying medicine.”
Four years later a surprise came in the mail – a photo from her, and a letter
Reading glasses on, I glanced at the photo: graduation gown, cap and tassel, fiancé at her side
I was elated, couldn’t have been more proud
“I’ll always remember you, the grown-up who made me feel better.”
By now I was nearing retirement and getting old, hearing going and struggling to listen
My colleagues were all younger, smartphones and PDAs in their white coat pockets,
They gave me a watch at my going away party,
I returned home to my wife, my kids, five grandchildren.
One day my daughter was busy, asked me to take my grandson to the doctor, stop by the store.
My eyes beamed when the physician stepped in – it was her!
Cloaked in white coat and stethoscope, so deft with the exam, we could have talked for hours
As I left the office, tears in my eyes, I told her, “Take good care of my grandson, he’s only four.”
Judge’s Comments:
This piece navigates the roles of the pediatrician and a particular patient through lingering vignettes that span years, life events, and ultimately, a changing of the guard. The compact stanzas accompany the doctor narrator from caring for a girl of four to her late teenage and post-college years. Notably, most stanzas include some fragment of dialogue, giving the once-girl-now-grown-woman the power of voice. The arc of the piece is deliberate and artful. Early on, the writer acts while the patient speaks. Later on, the writer retires while the patient now acts. The changing of the guard is complete as the writer entrusts his four year-old grandson to the care of his own former patient. Indeed, the orbit of relationships and roles arrives at its genesis and end.