The medical table is laden with presents,
carefully labeled for this treatment or that.
I am making choices,
not always sure I am right
but because they are mine to make.
The doctor’s brow puckers
as I appraise his initial recommendation.
When I pass over his next,
he fiddles with his stethoscope.
I wish I could spare him disappointment
as the struggle continues between his expertise
and my cherished beliefs.
Fervently I hope
he will consider my dissents,
turn his frown into a smile and say,
“Let’s begin this conversation again.”