Blue Becomes You

You arrive there because suddenly you are
not yourself. You go there in search of medical
aid, in the hope that whatever has assailed
your abruptly infirm body can be readily
interpreted, some magic potion or rite
known only to medical profession casually
applied and voila! you become yourself again
carefree and capable, all concerns of bodily
failure an issue no longer. You enter the
sacred precincts of a healing centre somewhat
less than the person you normally are, less
secure in yourself, timid and cure-seeking
prepared to lend yourself completely to the
forthcoming diagnosis, agree to the prescription
and emerge, reborn. But ... then ... something
other occurs and you are instructed to undress
remove everything you carefully chose to
wear that very morning and place upon your
self a nondescript blue formless garment
stringed at throat and back revealing far more
of your naked self than you care to and a
remarkable  transformation takes place. Your
individuality disappears, and you become a
patient. Attached to that status identity as a
'brain', 'heart', 'kidney', 'cancer' diagnosis
and you become other than yourself. Perfect
strangers treat you with condescending
kindness. Appended to your wrist an identifying
numeral, not to be confused with a numbered
tattoo you will wear forevermore despite
surface similarities, you assure yourself.