I wrote a paper on medical emancipation last year for my Health Care Law class, and so evading aggressive, unnecessary treatment was the first thing that came to mind (well, besides taxes). I don’t know how appropriate the title is, but I went with it, as sort of a play-on-words, even though this poem is of a serious nature.
Taxing Treatment Evasion
The best years of my life
will not be my last.
It is not that I want to die–
I just don’t want to live this way.
I have not given up,
but given in.
I will die with as much dignity
as those that pursue treatment
that only prolongs,
but cannot cure.
My days will be fewer,
but the hours longer,
for I will walk in the cool green grass
of the evening at twilight,
rather than the cold, hard tile
of the floor of the hospital.
I will sit in my hammock under the shade tree,
drinking sweet tea or lemonade,
smelling the barbecue I can no longer taste,
rather than the odd odors of the oncology wing.
I will look upon the faces of my children
under the light of the golden sun,
rather than under long bulbs of milky light.
I will sleep to the sounds of crickets and bullfrogs,
and music on the patio outside my window,
rather than to the hum of machines,
the clack-clacking of carts on wheels,
the soft laughter of nurses in cheerful scrubs.
I will not give up the ghost in a gown
of hospital issue,
but I will embrace the Light
in satin and lace.