A poem of gratitude for narrative medicine on Doctor’s Day
You stood in the quiet spaces
where fear gathers its weight,
in exam rooms humming with doubt,
in moments when breath was forced
and time seemed unwilling
to promise tomorrow.
You were there.
Not only with stethoscope and chart,
not only with the knowledge of medicine,
but with something far rarer:
a presence that did not rush,
a listening that did not measure itself
against the ticking of a clock.
I remember how you listened to the story,
as if each word mattered,
because to …
A poem of gratitude for narrative medicine on Doctor’s Day



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