Pain Management in Hospital

In corridors of hushed command, Where healing rests in practiced hands, The cries are quiet, not always loud— Pain wears many forms beneath the shroud. A furrowed brow, a breath held tight, A wince that hides from nurse’s sight. Pain does not always scream or bleed, It whispers what the body needs. And so begins the careful art— To ease the ache, to calm the heart. With every chart and bedside round, A story’s told without a sound. “How bad’s the pain—now tell me true, From one to ten, what number’s you?” Yet numbers fail to grasp the scale Of burning bone or spirit frail.