In the middle, he stood / Between darkness and good / Both selves beckoning him to a side / And in the fight, a small piece of him died
1st year of medical school: Don’t remember much. MD/PhD students, you know what I mean. Learned how to use a stethoscope. 2nd year of medical school: Everything a blur except Step 1 introduced me to my friends melatonin, Benadryl, Ambien And my best friend Lunesta. 3rd year of medical school: First clerkship: Ambulatory. First time I saw a patient by myself! It took an hour and a half! Attending happy? Attending not happy. Second clerkship: …
they are / people first / more than just numbers and / statistics on a computer screen
“There must be a better way to make a living than this!” / Slam. / Silence, except for the persistent heartbeat. / The beat of the ticking time bomb, the dying heart.
This path has been far from cookie cutter, / From being kneaded and rolled / By demanding needs to fulfill multiple roles, / I can’t help but wonder, will I make the cut?
I feel like a child wearing his father’s coat / The starched, fabric seems like a costume
The paratrooper shook as they descended upon him. / Prepared to interrogate him with hollow-point questions
We strive to identify as a generation of idealists. / We are politically aware, socially conscious young adults. / We place our collective purchasing power behind products with a social mission.
Modern art for today’s diseases. It’s up to us to find tomorrow’s solutions.
I first heard the click, click of her black stilettos / Her heels narrowed to a tiny point that seemed to pierce the ground. / I imagined the floor whimpering at every step she took / The faces of terrified tiles reflecting in glistening heels
In the playbook of professionalism, / Where is room for the physician who / Reads German poetry to the dying patient / For days and days until her end?
On a December night in a northern suburb of Chicago, the weather outside dipped into single digits with a sub-zero wind-chill. Safely situated indoors, a group of medical students wandered into a classroom where five tables were covered by plastic tarps with another laden with pipe cleaners, acrylic paint and brushes, and a stack of blank masks. Licking the emotional wounds left by a sleep-deprived exam week that ended only three days prior, the students eyed the art supplies. They were hopeful for a means for reconcile their psyche tattered by cold and a semester of school.