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Back in 2008 she noticed a trend—
Every patient chart had the same new friend.
Statins for breakfast, statins for tea,
“Preventative care,” they said cheerfully.
Paper charts vanished, scanners arrived,
Suddenly “progress” had fully survived.
Policies brewing in D.C. that day,
While common sense quietly slipped away.
Her house once valued at four-fifty grand,
Turned into Monopoly money in hand.
Poof went the equity—just like that,
But hey… at least the spreadsheets looked fat.
Then nursing school numbers began to shrink,
“Normal” blood pressure? Rethink, rethink.
What once was fine was suddenly dire—
Congrats! You're sick. Please see the cashier.
Glucose lines shifted, the thresholds fell,
Healthy last year? Too bad—oh well.
By lunchtime half the town could be told,
“You’re hypertensive, diabetic… and old.”
She didn’t want glory, applause, or a stage,
Just quietly watched the medical page.
Raised one eyebrow, tilted her head,
“Funny how illness spreads on paper,” she said.
So she packed a bag with a sideways grin,
And plotted an exit from where she'd been.
“They’re calling you crazy!” the neighbors would say—
She waved from the border and drifted away.
Now she lives where the ocean and palm trees sway,
Far from the noise of the grand USA.
They called her crazy then—still do today…
She just laughs softly
and sips her café.
English
