Terence Winch: Craic-Head Poetry

  In June of 2025, I found myself having to undergo two separate cardiac treatments at DC’s Washington Hospital Center, each visit spanning two days. Like most people, I hate being a hospital patient. The i.v.’s, the constant taking of vital signs day and night, the near-inedible food, the irritating roommate, the subarctic room temperature. Not to mention the pain and discomfort caused by whatever it is that has landed you there in the first place. The nurses were the antidote to my hospital miseries. Without exception, they were extraordinarily kind, professional, attentive. One of my nurses was a young African-American guy, another was a young white guy; all the rest were young women of color. They were all amazing, none of them ever making me feel that I was a pest or a burden. When I was discharged, I left with a feeling of profound gratitude for these dedicated young people and their empathetic souls. In the middle of the night—4.a.m., actually—on my second visit I bu...