My hands will find your wound.
They will clean away the infection,
change the festering, yellowed bandages,
surgically remove your cancer.
They will write your life-saving prescription,
hold your own trembling fingers as you listen to your diagnosis.
My hands will treat you.
My tongue will speak the truth.
It will remain silent and still in times of grief,
paralyzed by sorrow.
It will whisper comforting words for mourning ears to hear.
It will say the words that no one wishes to hear but also the words you pray for:
that “It was a success.”
My tongue will share my knowledge.
My brain will enable me.
It will recall every chamber of your heart,
the bones in your body,
the cortices of your brain.
It will lead my scalpel as I make the initial cut to open your airway.
It will guide my actions and my moral ethics so that I may best help you.
My heart will reach out and love you.
It will resonate with your deepest loss,
your utmost relief,
your moments of confusion and anguish.
It will squeeze tightly and contract, just like yours will
when you realize that life is fleeting and impermanent.
It will guide my actions and transform my compassion to save your life.
My heart brought me here and it will heal you.