Excerpt of “A Good View” by D’ete Blackshire, Listener Poet
Origin Story
When we met, she was coming off a stretch of nine 14-hour shifts. She was tired but in good spirits. She shared that she was nine months into a three-year emergency medicine residency and was known as a positive person. She spoke of being warned not to lose positivity or let burnout get to her. A colleague once asked, “Have you always been like this?” When asked what she wanted the poem to feel like, she said she wanted it to reflect a positive approach to negative emotions.
“I want it to represent how hard, beautiful, and worth it this journey has been – something to look at in the 2nd year. Something that says you did the emotions, had the emotions, now don’t change!”
D’ete Blackshire, Listener Poet
Stories from Residents and Fellows for the KNN, Vol. 1
May 2024
A Good View
By D’ete Blackshire, Listener Poet
Everyone tells you what not to lose
I rarely hear how to keep it.
I hear how to armor my humanity
before stepping into a patient room.
But how wise is it to brace
against negative outcomes?
I care for the sick.
I won’t keep it a secret from me.
If I hide my humanity, then
I miss
being human
one of many.
I miss
Mom’s first look at baby
and Dad’s first look at Mom.
I miss
looking into the eyes of
the husband who just lost
his wife of 57 years.
Each moment
is a celebration of life.
Even when there’s pain
I don't have to suffer.
It’s a hurting experience
and that’s not bad.
Life is more than the aches
we encounter.
I value feelings
and claim them all
with a promise
to never change
to always bring
a piece of myself
in the room
for every patient I see.
I hear my inner guidance.
It says,
feel emotions
do emotions
cry, laugh, run, release.
Have a glass of wine
with the sunrise
after a long night shift
and toast the rising sun
and the setting stars.
Justice is sitting on the horizon.
And with a tender eye
on what makes me human
I approach my heart to say
I’m doing Good Work.
There could be a hurting experience
but that’s not bad.
Interspersed with the joys and worries of being a gramma, she recounted her own grandparents – challenges and opportunities of caring for them, grief of losing them, gratitude for being loved by them, and the everyday experiences of now living in their home.
What is pain without a diagnosis? This is what occupied this patient before she even received her breast cancer diagnosis about a year ago.
She told me that she picked her battles more and was trying to be less of a people pleaser.
He ended up talking about his son, who is now his daughter. Another part of his experience of continual growth and soul-opening.
Her values and perspective on life had changed as she considered ways to spend more time with her husband.
“When I see an old dude who’s optimistic, living his life, I always stop to talk to him to try to find out what he has done.”
This nurse was considering leaving a position where she spent many years due to issues she experienced and witnessed at her hospital.
Many of the people he worked with had to develop a new identity in the context of their caregiving responsibilities. “It’s as if they need to become a new variant of themselves.”
“We’re taught to enter a room with a specific goal... with assumptions... with a hypothesis about what may be going on with the patient.”
She believes that most of those who have connected with ACS began with a personal connection, but then, according to her, “you evolve, and you shift.”
With her background in counseling and psychology, she works to bring people together and support patients.
Although at times she becomes discouraged about the inequalities in the world, she is determined to do her part by making sure everyone has access to quality healthcare.
This person radiated gratitude and hope. She shared that she discovered she was expecting a son just before receiving a lung cancer diagnosis at the age of 31.
She had an epiphany as a child — that love could heal the world. Now, as a seasoned physician, there’s still a part of her that believes in the power of love, but not with the same idealism she once held.
He talked about recently speaking with a patient who experiences migraines: she is seeking the truth, he is seeking the truth to find a way to work with her, wanting to give more than a diagnosis and prognosis.
To her, the surgical world has felt like “a wheel that keeps spinning,” a seemingly endless pursuit towards an undefinable goal.
While she kept an open mind throughout medical school, the field of OB/GYN ticked off all the boxes for her.
“I was at a birth recently and thought: This is why they are so afraid of us. They can’t control this” She sat on her couch with a mug of coffee. She is a queer, femme, mother of two who has worked in reproductive health for over two decades.
“The historic traumas of African-American women — all African-Americans — lead us to not be the first people at the doctors, nor the first to get surgery.”
“Sometimes I feel so helpless,” said this resident, reflecting on all of the challenges faced by the young patients and their families whom she served. Over the last several days, she has become increasingly overwhelmed by events in the news and has questioned her ability to make a difference in the world.
“It’s hard to watch the decline and sometimes hard to visit but it weighs on me not to,” she said. Her father had always been an elaborate storyteller and an alive, vibrant man with a big voice.
The Good Listening Project was honored to once again take part in the annual KNN conference in Minneapolis this year. Jenny closed the session by writing this harvest poem that captured the voices and sentiments shared.
After a history of crippling endometriosis, this woman had an arduous, ongoing struggle with her healthcare community for the right to have a hysterectomy. She was finally granted approval at the age of 29. “It had been like pulling teeth, but finally I felt free,” she told me.
Her childhood was infused with Hawaiian-Polynesian music and dance, taught to her father by his mother. Today, her life’s work is to connect the unbelievable discoveries of molecularly focused pre-clinical research directly to the patient experience of treatment.
She is a single mother born to a single mother and had to grow up fast. She is juggling a sticky work situation, her own anxiety and depression, and being away from home and her kids.
I was invited to create a group poem for forty participants at the Arts in Healing luncheon, hosted by the Inova Health Foundation in partnership with the board.
What does it mean for people living with Sickle Cell Disease to be seen, heard, and understood? For this person, it meant finding – and using – her voice to advocate for herself and for others.
“I’ve experienced a lot of big losses,” she said. “I want to be a beacon of hope and light, keeping the flame lit for cancer prevention.”
Professionally, for this person, Henrietta Lacks’ story represents the need to critically examine our research infrastructure.
