Perspective
Tender Callings
By Nancy J. Baker, M.D.
A home visit unveils a patient's and a physician's shared love of poetry.
It was 10 degrees below zero, and I noted that my 70-year-old patient with an inoperable mesenteric carcinoid tumor complicated by chylous ascites was scheduled to see me at 10 a.m. Aware of his overall frailty and fearing that he might fall, I called his caregiver and advised them to not come to the office as scheduled. I said I’d make a home visit later that afternoon.
My patient’s Minneapolis apartment was several blocks from the clinic. It overlooked the majestic Mississippi River, a few miles above Lock and Dam No. 1. During my visit, we drank a cup of tea, and after discussing his clinical course thus far, I did a rather cursory physical exam and advised him that we should proceed with hospice care.
When I stood to leave, I noticed two pictures on his living room wall. One appeared to be a portrait of a 19th century cleric; the second, a pen-and-ink drawing of a disheveled man seated, with his leg draped over the arm of a stuffed chair.
I asked about the first. My patient told me it was the 19th century English poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, his favorite poet.
“See the framed ‘Windhover’ poem I have above the bed,” he said.
I asked if the disheveled man was the poet Seamus Heaney.
“Indeed,” he said. “He and I went to the same grammar school in Derry, Ireland, although I was two years older than he. Heaney agrees with me that Hopkins’ prose is difficult to decipher but his poetry is extraordinary.”
Briefly, I shared my passion for poetry and told my patient that I’d been doing a series of podcasts using poems to talk about the experience of illness and the nature of the doctor-patient relationship. He promised to listen so that we could discuss the poems at my next visit.
During the next three months, I made home visits to my patient every week or two. After we discussed various issues related to the difficult process of dying, our conversations would take on a more lively tone. We discussed Hopkins’ poems and together read others by Dannie Abse, W.H. Auden, William Carlos Williams, Emily Dickinson, Wendell Berry, and Mary Oliver.
After one of those visits, I found myself penning a few lines of verse that used some of the alliteration and language Hopkins used in his famous works “Kingfisher” and “The Windhover.” With some hesitation, I later gave my patient a copy of my poem. Somehow, it seemed a fitting way to convey my deep admiration and respect for him, and at the same time give him my permission to die.
I am, and will be, forever grateful to my patient for his friendship, for having introduced me to Gerard Manley Hopkins, and for helping me better understand what it is like to suffer from, and endure, a life-threatening illness.
“… for that I came.”
(in homage to Gerard Manley Hopkins)
Oh soft-spoken, tender-hearted
man of God and son,
you are a fisher of men for the King.
You admonish the dragons to fly away
as you embrace the chevalier.
Your lovely limbs and eyes keep grace
while you confess your fear.
You stake the pains and search your soul
wondering why, how,
when will this wasting wait end.
Brute beauty and valor meet my eye
though you dread self-reflection.
I know these moments only
(not those of yesteryear)
and dare to hope for peace.
Your lived life in God’s eye
shines bright, yes gold vermilion.
I am the better blessed by you. I bow.
My tongue flings out this heartfelt prayer,
Go gladly home, go now Godspeed.
Nancy Baker is an assistant professor of family medicine and community health at the University of Minnesota and a faculty physician in the Fairview University family medicine residency program. She also practices at Smiley’s Clinic in Minneapolis.