I was thinking about how so many "professional caregivers", such as Nurses, Doctors and many others in the broad spectrum of those who attend to the health-care needs of humanity, commonly overwork themselves way beyond what might be expected of them.

My impression, both as one who has led the life, and also observed many of my colleagues, is that most of the time, we are doing it for others. Sure, once in a while, we're chasing the $ because we want the new car, or the Costa Rica vacation and so on, but really, it's almost always because we are the caregivers in our own personal sphere of influence.

We can earn some major cash, working overtime. If our spouse is just an average wage-earner, heck, we might be pulling down $1000 a day, for a little extra work. So naturally, all eyes look to us and open palms extend our way, and since it is our very nature to care, we just knock down a few more hours. Well, it's a slippery slope into oblivion, substance abuse, auto accidents, suicide and other similar miseries.

I call it:

Our Fountain of Giving

Regarding professional caregivers
Overworked, burned-out, and dedicated,
Performing with such depth of compassion
Commonly coping, self-medicated,
Amidst an over-capacity workload
They perform at the peak of their prime,
Look closely, it's not selfish fulfillment
It's for somebody else, every time.

Each one of us dedicated professionals
Came to our path, perhaps fated,
Like genetics, or family predisposition
A long history, to be traced, carbon-dated,
We often suffer, from a primitive condition
Where we overlook our own precious needs,
Eventually we crash, torn asunder and maimed
And suddenly everyone bleeds.

Because, attached to each one of these professional caregivers
There's a long line of benefited receivers,
They depend on our fountain of giving
We’re their God, and they’re the believers,
But even a God needs to rest
And that is the sober reality,
The ongoing demands of those persons
Deplete our very essence of vitality.

Premature retirement, disabled or dead
Is often the path that we follow,
Many caregivers are completely depleted
Their mortal remains are but hollow,
Left by the wayside of existence
Empty shells, that once held a precious light,
A dedicated professional, drifting off in the mist
Succumbs to the quiet of night.

Fibril_late;
3/5/08