Bruce Anderson
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The Wounded Healer

(*a matter of degree)

by Bruce Anderson, Ph.D. abd*

medical scientist


He was unaware the poison filled the air,

As he labored in the lab to serve the patients there,

Mercury in the water steamed into his lung,

While he catered to their needs before this song was sung,

Discovered in a basin hidden there for months,

Someone broke a vessel and didn't tell their deed,

His body filled with death that he would carry now,

While no-one would confess his soul began to bleed,

"There's nothing now the matter" the M.D. told him then,

An expert in pathology a genius among men,

"The mercury won't hurt you now listen close to me,"

"I know better than you a matter of degree,"

Not tested nor reported the man continued there,

But soon the symptoms gathered to take the doctor's dare,

First his mind decayed with short term memory loss,

Then his joints would soon refute his errant boss,

But he was still convinced this wasn't then the matter,

It must be something else that left him torn and tattered,

The expert in the field had told him how to see,

Don't bother to conjecture a matter of degree,

He fell then from his life of academic bliss,

Gradually for years stalking death's kiss,

From doctor then to doctor with unimaginable pain,

As the mercury inside him ate away his brain,

"We don't know what's the matter it must be in your mind,"

"Just ignore your symptoms it will go away in time,"

"It really doesn't hurt there's nothing wrong with you you see,"

"We know better than you a matter of degree,"

Then among the homeless he found his lesser fate,

The addicts, alcoholics, disabled, thieves of late,

He found himself living where nobody really cared,

Yet he learned so much more than what the books had shared,

Observing all the experts who once had been his peers,

As he overcame his torture and conquered all his fears,

Suffering alone where no-one knew his coming fame,

He became another number in the social worker's game,

Accused and convicted of things he couldn't conceive,

Treated like a criminal whose pain would never leave,

Told he couldn't fight the pain because he was depressed,

Denied the medication his anguish was his test,

"You know you're psychosomatic because we can't confess,"

"To understand your symptoms contributing your stress,"

"It's your defective mind that tortures you you see,"

"We know better than you a matter of degree,"

"But now we'll give you Vioxx for your arthritic pain,"

"Though we think that all the matter is you're just insane,"

Then his life skipped several beats the drug attacked his heart,

He danced with death another time and then more pain would start,

They cut him wrong and he bled out the wound there in his groin,

Infected him with poor technique collecting all their coin,

"The money's more important than telling you the truth,"

"We made no mistakes we aren't to blame but folly in your youth,"

Held back the drug that would protect his heart from further harm,

Then once again his heart stopped beating far much worse alarm,

Over and over the errors continued to eat away his trust,

The lies and more deceit than convicts living in the dust,

Gripping at his chest with then more years to go,

Beaten and forsaken by experts who don't know,

That love is the only answer to awaken from this fate,

The light shining within you can overcome all hate,

Yet he bore his wounds with rage and inner anger,

Cursing at his God and those who brought him danger,

Projecting it on to others who didn't mean him harm,

When he foresaw the pattern that sounded his alarm,

Sinking to the turning point when he must make the choice,

To finish this and take his life or turn to raise his voice,

The knife against his neck one night while in a drunken rage,

Then heard the music in his heart would one day take the stage,

And so he fought the system back beginning to compose,

Recalling Shakespeare's wisdom and the Master of the Rose,

The music then restored the joy he thought forever gone,

Emotionally and spiritually his healing had begun,

Now the mercury has receded through his own long effort,

The experts with degrees they couldn't heal him of this hurt,

He diagnosed and treated his own measurable state,

He's healing from their damage and now beats down his hate,

Occasionally erupting as his wounds continue to bleed,

He keeps it to himself to plant a greater seed,

Forgiveness and compassion can only heal him now,

And he found it was waiting in the music and his vow,

To not forget the suffering he has witnessed in the trenches,

To fight for truth and light that saved him from the benches,

For now he's risen from near death to athletic world contention,

As a swimmer and musician defying all convention,

Speaking out for human rights he suffered once the cost,

Knowing from the top and bottom society's at a loss,

Corruption lies and greed as institutions now decay,

He has a better answer and soon enters to the fray,

Now as he starts to raise his voice of love throughout the world,

Keep in mind where he has been and then what has unfurled,

There is no barrier can stop a man deciding to be free,

Not illness, not homelessness, nor a matter of degree...

Bruce Anderson, Ph.D. abd

abd means "all but dissertation," as the mercury intoxication occurred just

before that publication with all coursework and much research complete.

Now I have something to write about!

Nothing will stop the revolution; not illness, not homelessness, nor a matter of degree...(Now that CMAC has empowered me to share this with the world. Thank you and bless you CMAC friends. It's time for revolution!)