I am waiting for my coffee when / a middle-aged Turkish man / asks if I am a medical student —
When the love of my life started medical school, I knew she would need all of my support to get through it. I knew this because she told me.
5:37 a.m. in hospital scrubs /
Just a few minutes with each patient.
And now here she was, in the family lounge at a hospital waiting to speak to her father’s neurologist. Her dad, Ricky, had collapsed at work — or so she had been told. This was the most she had heard of her father’s life since she moved out of the house.
The opportunity to be immersed in learning the stories behind the health of patients is one of the things that drew me to medicine, and, indeed, it still intrigues me. More importantly, I was (and still am) intrigued by the opportunity and challenge of using the multiple streams of information patients present with to make functional improvements in their lives.
They say you’re at the top of the class / I say I’m barely able to pass
Dr. Goodly saw patients on Thanksgiving every year. Wasn’t that the whole point of the holiday?
One thing bothers me: / Books are most of what we see. / Doctor-patient relationship — / Only mentioned in them, flip by flip.
I know better. / I know nothing, and I am useless. / So don’t throw words at me insinuating that / I am knowledgeable.
If there is an accident / And you find me / Don’t leave me / But hold my hand / Because I am scared
Time for empathy. / Time for empathy? / Collect a complete psychiatric history. / Plus, medical history with dates of diagnosis and current medications.
My heart is not a lacy valentine. / It is an anatomic pump / Engineered evolution / Strong walls of long runs