physician winner
William Shores, M.D.
William Shores, M.D., didn’t set out to become a poet. About a decade ago, the semi-retired family physician discovered by accident he liked to write. Then the lead physician at the Mayo Clinic Health System’s St. Peter Clinic, he was looking for a way to share his ideas and values about work with his colleagues. He tried what he calls a “Walmart-type” morning meeting, but staff were too busy to attend. So Shores began putting his thoughts into words and sending email missives he labeled “A Good Monday Morning.” “I would write this paragraph, which was sometimes whimsical and sometimes serious,” he says. “Always there was a little message hidden it.”
Shores found he enjoyed the process of writing and began experimenting. He eventually decided he liked poetry. “You can get a story told in a small amount of words,” he says. “It feels natural to do that.”
Now 63, Shores serves as medical director for the Benedictine Living Communities and Good Samaritan Nursing Home in St. Peter and has more time for wordsmithing. He’s joined a writing group that meets once a month. Members critique each other’s work. And he’s taken to carrying around a little notebook, in which he jots down ideas, analogies, and phrases during the day. “I write those down and then plug them in when I sit down to write,” he says, which is usually first thing in the morning.
His poem “Hospice” was inspired by a real patient who died about 25 years ago. He’s wanted to write about her for years. In March, he crafted a rough draft and then “picked at it” before sending it to Minnesota Medicine. “This was a story I’ve told before at hospice meetings—just not in this language. Those were close to her exact words: She would like to help but will have to wait until next week. She was an amazing woman.”
Shores says writing now provides him with the opportunity to re-examine experiences he’s had over his 33-year career. “I get [the story] down on paper and look at it from different angles,” he says, noting that all physicians meet many amazing people and encounter many moving events over the course of a career.
“That’s the thing,” he says. “Some of these stories are coming back now that I have more time.”
Hospice
She was dying, of course. The signs were there for all to see.
The tumor stood proudly in the crosshairs of the once mighty Cyclotron as it blazed
With all the effect of a toy ray gun.
The metastases laughed as they drank to the dregs the poison cocktail,
Unfazed … then gave the hangover to the hostess
Leaving her tired and sick, but not without her smile.
Never without her smile.
She was dying, of course. We all knew it.
But who could tell her?
Not her husband. Their lives now one with their toddler boy
Conceived in defiance of the Intruder two years ago
And now nestled next to her on the sofa.
Not her oncologist. He wasn’t immune to her smile
And was drawn into the vortex of her love and acceptance.
Do not confuse this with blind denial … you can’t fully smile with your eyes closed.
“Sue, we have this group in town,” I began, trying to ease into the hospice spiel.
“They volunteer to be with … people … who are … very sick.”
“Oh doctor,” she stopped me. “That sounds wonderful!”
Her curly haired child cuddled closer as she smiled and finished,
“But I’m too tired right now. Maybe I can help out next week … when I’m stronger.”
She was living, of course.