Participants from NJ, NY, TX, KY, PA, ME, MI, and Turkey joined our session to discuss the poemย โChilly in our Gownsโ byย Maryfrances Wagner, posted below.
Discussion of the text immediately went to the contrast between the first lines and the latter portion of the poem, which evoked not just an intimacy that is then mourned, but also seems to evoke a nostalgia for the past, for time, with the comparing of tomato yields and even the retro-Americana quality to the meal of a burger and a malt.
Time was also noted as weighted in the phrase โno longer,โ which not only articulated change and temporality, but a possible shift in identity from doctor and ferryman to โsinkingโ as something else under the overwhelm of scheduling. Of course mortality was noted as present in the allusion of the ferryman as well, and one participant noticed the coldness of the language, beyond just the chill from the gowns, where the narrator โscuttlesโ from the room in an alien fashion, and the โlaying on of handsโ is replaced by others โdoing his touching.โ Mirroring the physical distance, the doctor is also distracted, mysteriously, by a quick โbrownโ study that pulls his attention to the window in this new environment.
And yet, another participant noted that the tone of the narrator seems to be sympathetic to the doctor, attempting to see from his viewpoint of โsinkingโ and being โbehind,โ even if it does leave the narrator to navigate the โmurky waters of fearโ more alone. Many participants noted that this points to the systemic issues in medicine, not just with overburdened doctors, but with teams of care fractured from each other and the patient for the sake of efficiency and profit: the โnurse takes my blood pressureโ and โthe technicians do his touchingโ and the โreceptionist assures me the nurse will call.โ These observations illuminated not just what was powerful in the poem, but what is powerful about using poetry, literature, or art as a lens to inspect the complexity of healthcare experiences.
In the shadow of todayโs text, we invited everyone to respond to the prompt: “Write about a laying on of hands.” They brought us to a familiar, uneasy place: โI sit in fear, fear of the unknowns…How am I going to continue through this tunnel of uncertainty?โย
One writer/readerโs use of alliterative repetition (โpoke, press, prodโ) caught our attention as relatable patients who โfeel dullโ and may be โleft alone to clean up the mess.โ We noticed how a lack of eye contact left the author unable to read the doctorโs thoughts. Certainly there was looking happening, but was there seeing? Knowing?
This theme of being-without-connecting carried through to the third writer who explored the dichotomy between that which is comforting yet pushing boundaries. We appreciated how each writerโs exploration of the tension between agency and attention redefined for us what โtouchโ means as the laying on of hands could be both active and passive.
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Please join us for our next session Monday May 3rd at 6pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.
Chilly in our Gowns
My doctor used to clip articles from our town paper.
My fencing victory and engagement photo grinned
when he opened my chart. We compared tomato
yields, recommended books. He listened
to my lungs, my heart, examined my throat,
but always the laying on of hands, the patted
shoulder before a shot, the outstretched
arm rescuing me from the hypoglycemic faint
to offer a hamburger and a malt. I could name
states heโd toured with his daughters, night classes
he took on the Middle East. Now,
his nurse takes my blood pressure and asks
if I think it will rain. She writes symptoms
on my chart. My doctor no longer sits,
one arm resting on his knee, to ask
if Iโm still taking calcium, drinking water.
He looks out the window, a quick brown study
he doesnโt share. He is behind, his waiting room
sinking under sore throats, a broken toe,
a stitchable biking accident. He writes
prescriptions, orders tests, has technicians
do his touching. He rushes off to others,
waiting chilly in their gowns. I scuttle out one door
as he closes another, his muffled voice
an instant replay. The receptionist assures me
the nurse will call, my doctor no longer
my ferryman across fearโs murky water.
Maryfrances Wagner
From Red Silk
The Mid-America Press 1999
https://www.pw.org/directory/writers/maryfrances_wagner
Connections in Narrative Medicine 