room 304

Hello there, Leya. This is Alex, dropping by a review.

Intriguing title, to say the least. It doesn't give away anything yet the curiosity instantly pulls the reader in to find out what it's about. This poetry talked about the difficulties that arise with being a doctor, focusing more on a single case that took place in room 304 and how it impacted the doctor deeply- thus the title.

The poem is suggestive at best but the vague hints only make it more amusing to read. The implications point towards a doctor, but I can't make out a particular specialty from this. The childbirth suggests a gynecologist but gauging the gunshot wound points more towards surgery. This piece repeatedly mentions the patient's heart unraveling so there is a possibility it's about a cardiologist. The chest compression and losing a patient, on the hand, are more generalized. Maybe it's talking about a med student, instead. That would explain the varied fields. There's also a good chance that you didn't overthink all these insignificant details, which wouldn't really be that surprising. What I like to think is that the one doctor here is a symbolism for everyone in the medical industry, struggling with the same battles. Some deliver babies, while others perform life saving surgeries- but all these doctors, nurses and paramedics are one and the same in their hardships. They're overworked and often neglect their own health for their patients. They're the worst victims of the system and the sky high expectations of public. To us, they're no less than God. But we forget, they're no more than humans either.

Enough babbling, let's start with decoding the first stanza.

the hallway outside room 304 was so narrow

This is an interesting imagery, possibly a metaphor for much more. It might suggest poor infrastructure design for the sole purpose for maximizing space for hospital rooms, than spacious hallways. While it can be seen from a positive outlook that the system remembers what the priority is and doesn't focus on vain lavishes, it can also be thought of as a desperate attempt of a private hospital corporation to milk out the most money from minimum investment, a disgusting plan of making a business out of people's lives.

it was where i held a man's hand as his heart unraveled in my palm

At first glance, I thought you meant it romantically, a poor interpretation at my part. The next line sure cleared the air! I believe this line talks of the patient's heart giving up as the doctor holds his hand. A truly devastating scenario to imagine oneself into. Every time a doctor loses one of their patients, it's must feel like a part of their soul has been lost to oblivion. Absolutely shattering.

as if i could hold his grief the way i held a scalpel

This line was my favorite for so many reasons. The doctor suggests how easy it is for her to hold a scalpel in such a subtle way. To her, it comes as naturally as breathing. The indirect objectification of grief, an abstract emotion, was pretty awesome too. And lastly, the acknowledgement that she can't help the dead man's wife deal with grief as well and easily as she performs even the most intricate procedures. She finds herself unable to console the mourning spouse. There's an unspoken helplessness to this scene, knowing the doctor can't do anything now that it's over. In this difficult moment, they're both united in their pain of losing a person to death.

now, i tremble just from opening a cabinet door
because i brush my teeth with the same fingers that
once packed gauze into a bullet wound

These lines did a good job of portraying the doctors vulnerability and limitations as a human. Despite performing several operations, her hands tend to tremble at the simplest of tasks. We see her professional experience hinder her personal life. She can't even brush her teeth without remembering all the blood her hands have been drenched in. A simple yet powerful depiction.

these hands have snapped ribs under compressions

That's a well researched detail! Medical professionals claim that if you don't at least break one rib while doing chest compression, you're definitely doing it wrong. A broken rib's a small price to pay for saving a life. Liked how your poem reflected such anatomical facts, good job!

while my brain sorts each tragedy into files

This was such a well written line. I feel it forms a bridge between the paperwork doctors are handed and deal with and the emotional attachment they develop with their patients along the way. They cope with the trauma of losing them. But on paper, their patients are mere cases they studied, prescribed and closed after death. The action of sorting things into files, which meant much more than that at some point in the past, undersells the value and care that went into looking after them.

fighting sleep / who checks my vitals? / i don’t want to unravel like he did in that room

I could feel the narrative and perspective change here. As if a mirror has been turned around. It highlights the doctor's personal plight, listing all that she goes through. It almost sounds selfish and demanding. But when you've been charitable to the extent of putting your life on the line for saving others, these questions and concerns become necessary to raise. We've got doctors to save us, but do the doctors have a similar support system? Should they not be even more looked out for, considering their value to society and susceptibility to physical and mental health problems as a result of such a draining job? They deserve a better work schedule that allows them to sleep properly in order to be their most productive self. The doctor is pointing out how no one checks her well being and if things keep going like this, she might even meet the fate of the man in room 304, an alarming claim.

where i first learned
what it meant to hold someone's last moment
and never be the same again.

These lines perfectly captured the emotional toil that comes with being in healthcare. Death erodes your naivety. You're transformed as a person, never to be the same again. Utterly soul crushing.

i swear i can still feel his pulse in my hand.

This poetry ends with a classic denial. The doctor is still not over the death she experienced in room 304. She still can't truly process that the man's pulse is gone. She can still feel it in her hand, perhaps a part of him that will forever stay with her as an aching reminder of the loss.

As I wind up my review, I must come back to the title. A number so random but with a latent reminder. There are at least 304 like this one, in this very building. While we read of this one particular tale about death, a couple in the next room could be celebrating giving birth. There take place hundreds more stories going on in the same timeline. Each room has heard a newborn's cry and and a wailing widow. So many lives, all too many for us to read about. Makes the reader feel so small, considering the vastness of people and their varied experiences.

Loved your poetry. As an aspiring med student myself, it pierced right through my heart. With such simplicity, it carried the weight of the pain doctors endure for all of humanity. They deserve the utmost level of respect and care. Hope to read more from you in the future!

Hi Leya! I loved your work. Though it's a simple poem, it has a gravity to it. It deals with the traumas of being a doctor right? The saviours.
My favourite line was,

it was where i held a man's hand as his heart unraveled in my palm

While they have been under great tragedies, I do think they have been in great joyful moments to, for example as you said

and cradled newborns straight after childbirth

or many other life saving moments. But at the end, as you said, there trauma are most of the time neglected by others. If not by others, then by themselves.

it was where i held a man's hand as his heart unraveled in my palm
and his wife cried into the crook of my shoulder

I think these two lines depict how doctors have to handle grief of both the sides (the patients and also their loved ones) while there isn't really someone to handle the doctor's grief.

I really loved your work because I didn't think about this topic deeply before this.