Doctor, you see only the faint visible smile
on my exterior, my hand reaches out to shake yours
as you enter the space.

But you cannot see the “me” within,
the fear, the stress, the anxiety
that circulates inside me.

These emotions swirl within,
poking and prodding,
they hang like a weighted chain
about my heart.

I guess one could say
I am an imposter,
a person in disguise.

But couldn’t the same be said of you?
I guess you were trained
to keep your emotions all bottled up,
to never allow your patients to see
the real you,
for some reason, that would contradict the image
you were told to project.

My voice, the silent voice within,
wants to scream out in defiance,
to empty all the emotions that I hold within.
But do you truly care to hear my story,
when you are just trying your darndest
to get through your day?

The white walls that surround us
seem so cold, so unforgiving,
so devoid of feeling.
And so, we both utter
the fewest words possible.

If only I knew that you were concerned
about what I was experiencing,
that your care and attention
went beyond the numbers and charts
that stand before you.

If only you saw me as an entire person,
a person who fears the future
and what it may bring.

I need you to be there,
standing there beside me,
helping me face what may come.

Show me compassion
and I might be able to trust
the person who is seated before me.

Michele Luckenbaugh is a patient advocate.