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X-ray Waiting Room
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Pectoriloquy
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Editor’s Note: The author writes, “Childhood medical experiences make it difficult for me to be in medical settings today, but I discovered recently that writing about it helps.” Joanna White is Professor of Flute at Central Michigan University.
X-ray Waiting Room I read Real Simple, a flappy shield to screen sick sea of peering eyes. I follow round cracked cobblestones that curve and wend by pond, through a tendriled trellis arching over a bench past dangling yellow roses where I spy the lady of the garden squatting down in grubby jeans and clogs with floppy hat, no job to do but taming wilding weeds. No people take her clothes and make her lie, no x-ray beams undress her through a gown. In open air she smiles. I turn the page and see her friends, they come one day to help but this is not a party, it is clear. They come so she can show them how to pull the choking weeds for she must leave to fight a different growth, the one that lies within. I slap the pages shut and sling it down. I close my eyes, then open them to see a painting on the wall, a bobbing boat, pink shimmer on the water sparking waves, tinged mauves and golds on clouds, a softened spray like blossoms in a garden by Monet. So here’s my chance, it’s all I need to do, to mount the boat, unfurl the sails, untie the rope that tethers sailboat to the dock, push off, slip round the bend and out to sea. Joanna White, DMA (Doctor of Musical Arts) Mt. Pleasant, MI
© 2015 AMERICAN COLLEGE OF CHEST PHYSICIANS.
Reproduction of this article is prohibited without written permission from the American
College of Chest Physicians. See online for more details. DOI: 10.1378/chest.14-1811
278 Pectoriloquy
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147#1 CHEST JANUARY 2015
]
Pectoriloquy
]
Editor’s Note: The author writes, “Childhood medical experiences make it difficult for me to be in medical settings today, but I discovered recently that writing about it helps.” Joanna White is Professor of Flute at Central Michigan University.
X-ray Waiting Room I read Real Simple, a flappy shield to screen sick sea of peering eyes. I follow round cracked cobblestones that curve and wend by pond, through a tendriled trellis arching over a bench past dangling yellow roses where I spy the lady of the garden squatting down in grubby jeans and clogs with floppy hat, no job to do but taming wilding weeds. No people take her clothes and make her lie, no x-ray beams undress her through a gown. In open air she smiles. I turn the page and see her friends, they come one day to help but this is not a party, it is clear. They come so she can show them how to pull the choking weeds for she must leave to fight a different growth, the one that lies within. I slap the pages shut and sling it down. I close my eyes, then open them to see a painting on the wall, a bobbing boat, pink shimmer on the water sparking waves, tinged mauves and golds on clouds, a softened spray like blossoms in a garden by Monet. So here’s my chance, it’s all I need to do, to mount the boat, unfurl the sails, untie the rope that tethers sailboat to the dock, push off, slip round the bend and out to sea. Joanna White, DMA (Doctor of Musical Arts) Mt. Pleasant, MI
© 2015 AMERICAN COLLEGE OF CHEST PHYSICIANS.
Reproduction of this article is prohibited without written permission from the American
College of Chest Physicians. See online for more details. DOI: 10.1378/chest.14-1811
278 Pectoriloquy
[
147#1 CHEST JANUARY 2015
]