Emma Storr Calder Valley Poetry, 2019, pamphlet, £8.70
Emma Storr’s poetry book Heart Murmur was inspired by Emma’s fascination with the human body. The book contains 27 poems, written in contemporary language. These weave a path through the complexities of medicine, moving from a focus on a specific organ through to a contrite contemplation on clinical trials.
These reflective poems are written from both the doctor’s and patient’s perspective. They draw on the ethical, moral, and emotional aspects of medicine. Importantly, the poems consider the effect of disease and management particularly through the uncertainty of everyday medicine.
I enjoyed reading ‘Delivery’ with its calm account of the experience of an emergency section from the mother’s point of view: ‘Midnight slipped between their births, the witching hour split in two.’ Moving forward, I felt I was there examining a newborn infant in ‘Six-Week Check’. Here, Emma describes the incredible wonder of the new life, fragile and fresh in her hands: ‘your baked cub-like scent’. Yet I was perplexed by and have not understood ‘Clinical Trials’, with each paragraph ending with ‘you bastard’. There is discerning familiarity in ‘Repeat Prescription’, which starts with ‘I want to prescribe panaceas for teetering marriages, for kids that disappoint.’ Furthermore, an excerpt from the poem ‘Consultation’ reads, ‘You’ve got a terrible sore throat and streaming nose … Sounds like a cold … so you thought you’d better pop in. As an urgent appointment? To make sure it wasn’t going onto your chest. Oh come on … you’re not even coughing.’
These empathise with the struggle to provide a solution to many recalcitrant patient requests. The facetious verses give humour to the frustration of the everyday drudgery. Yet, these poems give humility and wisdom to the fragile nature of the human body and the importance of the words used by the patient.
Emma examines the human in every doctor, the raw emotion, the fascination and repulsion when a patient ‘took off half her face’ and placed it on the desk. There is real sadness and compassion in the poem ‘Missed’ describing the devastation of making a mistake: ‘I prescribed you medicine. I didn’t think when you told me. The scan shocked us both. I am a bad doctor. I failed you.’
Emma’s honest experiences demonstrate humility and give insightful reflection on the everyday interaction between patients and doctors. The book provided a sad, happy, funny, and serious read where I both laughed and cried. The poems have stayed with me long after reading them. I will certainly listen better to my patients.
- © British Journal of General Practice 2020
