Beeps & Needles

A day spent navigating tests, staff, and the small comedy of clinical life.

Once you cross your thirties, annual health checkups become a thing. Hours can slip by as you tick off each test — a test in patience, survived with cigarettes, sarcasm, profanity, or prayer. Take your poison.

This time, I tried something different. I relied on the hospital’s free Wi-Fi and a bit of internal humour to get through the day unscathed. Six hours later, the staff had been cheerful, the tests completed, and I walked away with smiles… and a poem, which I hope you’ll enjoy.

Scroll for a little hospital diary and dry humour captured in verse.

Rows of seats—nearly every one claimed,
like suitors already spoken for.

Rooms line the sides: ECG 1, ECG 2, PFT, Blood Sample Collection.
Behind the counters, poker calm.
On the seats, expressions heavy
enough to pass for symptoms.

Nurses in pink scurry,
feet faster than thought—almost.
Voices overlap in queues—
audible, ignored.

Somewhere down the hall, a man sneezes hard—
the room recoils, at least in the mind.

Across the room, a woman clutching a sonography slip
sits very still—
hydrated beyond dignity.

My fingers tap my knee.
Beep. Beep. Another name called. Mine.

A door opens.
Inside, reports read, reflexes tested.
Questions about family history—
asked without looking up.

I offer a family tree with missing branches.
The doctor finally looks up—
lowers his expectations,
writes something, ticks a box.

I step out.
Next—post-fasting extraction, or offering.

One arm already surrendered.
The technician moves to the other,
mid-conversation.

“Deep breath.”

I look away.
She finds the vein faster than I find courage.
A vial fills.

The day ends. February 7.

— Priyanka Jaiprakash

If this poem made you smile, or nod in recognition, I’d love to hear your thoughts — leave a comment below!

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By Priyanka Jaiprakash

Poetry and reflections for seekers, dreamers, and deep thinkers — on love, life, healing, and growth.

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