The nicest man in the world lies in his hospital bed,

His eyes covered by plastic shields,

Armored chests that protect the treasures inside.

This man has a disease that attacks his eyes.

He has had this disease for eight years.

He took medicine that protected his eyes,

Until he lost his insurance.

One year later, his symptoms return:

His eyes grow red, his vision obscured.

He comes to the hospital seeking relief;

There, in the night, no doubt confused,

He slips and falls and ruptures his eye.

Ophthalmology consult, emergency surgery, steroid IV.

This is when I met him, and he met me.

He became one of my first patients.

He never complained when I woke him up early,

He never bemoaned the cruelty of fate.

And he concluded every conversation by saying,

Thank you, Doctor.

I am a student – I carry no badge with the letters “MD.”

But when this man calls me “Doctor,”

He makes me feel like a true physician.

One who is terrified for his patient.

This wonderful man’s vision grows worse

Even as we give him med after med.

One afternoon, he whispers his fear:

He may never see his son again.

My patient might go blind

Because of an accident

And because he lost his insurance.

Our eyes are the lamps of our bodies;

They show us a shattering sunset, towering trees, or a child’s chubby chin.

If our eyes are healthy, then our bodies are full of light.

But if our eyes are broken, then our bodies are full of darkness.

As I ponder my patient, lying in bed

With plastic cocoons wrapped over his brow,

I hesitate to hasten his return to dread.

My vision becomes blurry as well.