It angered me this am,
While relaying your story to my staff physician,
That when I said you were Aboriginal,
It seemed to legitimize
The fact that you’re here,
The fact that you’re dying
Too early, just like 3 of your siblings already.
With a heart that’s tired,
Vessels clogged, ravaged by toxic levels of sugars.
It felt like a fait accomplit, a tada,
An of course, a no surprise,
I further angers me that
I stood beside you,
As you squirmed in poorly controlled arthritis, shortness of breath,
With the knowledge that my job,
Is just a referral, another cog,
In the process of bandaging our social ills.
Of hooking you up with palliative care,
So my conscious could be off the hook,
For cultural injustice, inequality,
Propelled, propagated over generations.
In the discomfort of watching you squirm,
I too tried not to squirm,
Knowing the limited utility of my own actions.
Another cog moving with current,
Propelled by the status quo
That results in morbid obesity,
The fact that a good day you can walk 4ft
Before being short of breath,
Isolation, depression –
Your telling me, “I just want to die”.