Basil
It was pink / like the flowers he buys his wife. / It was not uniform.
Tag: patient story
I am a third year medical student at UC Riverside. I enjoy backcountry camping and cooking plant-based meals.
The Waiting Room
The room kept going in and out of focus. That was why she did not notice him at first. All she could pay attention to was the way her hands and feet kept going cold, hot and then cold again — all happening in step with the alternating blurring and clearing of her vision.
Outside the Room: A Code Blue
I was called to a code the other day. Now I should probably clarify: as a medical student, I don’t actually do anything (unless they really need people for compressions). In fact, I wasn’t even in the room.
Fourth Year: Fences
The last year of medical school heralds more than just the end of an era. It brings with it the confidence in a career choice doubted several times just a year ago.
Ready to Go
The very first patient I ever met on my internal medicine rotation was someone who hated being in the hospital. He took every opportunity in the following ten days to remind us that he was waiting to be discharged.
Her Wardrobe
In high school, I was obsessed with wearing only vintage clothing. After hours of painstakingly searching every clothing rack at Goodwill, I would find a well-worn baseball jersey or an elaborately bejeweled Christmas sweater. I felt a sense of immense pride in reclaiming someone else’s memories — their winning games, their holiday parties – in an attempt to express my “uniqueness”.
On Strangerhood, Intimacy and Fake Pee
She and I experienced such extremes of strangerhood and intimacy in only 72 hours. But what a privilege it was, to be there for her when she had no one else, to advocate for her, to go a little (or a lot) above and beyond on her behalf, to see the inter-workings of this stranger’s life: this is why I chose medicine.
Under
Little girl / in the pink hospital gown / sits in a windowless room.
“You Don’t Know How I’m Feeling”: A Plea for Death with Dignity
“That’s rubbish.” My new friend — I’ll call her Sylvia — lay supine on her bed, staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling. White bedsheets swathed her long, gaunt limbs, and her sickly pallor startled me.
Doctor, This Isn’t Normal — Is It?
“Knife.” One of the surgical nurses slapped it into his hand, and Dr. James drew the scalpel quickly down the woman’s betadine-covered belly. So little fanfare preceded that moment that I almost missed it.
My Peer, My Professor
Sometimes the best intervention is not a medication but rather a listening ear, not a vaccination but rather a shoulder to cry on, not a screening test, but instead an advocate.
Death
Dan and I mimicked ducklings as we followed our senior resident, Tassia, single file down the stairs on our way back to the resident room. As we neared the bottom, we crossed paths with another medicine resident leading two medical students playing the same roles as Dan and I.
Contributing Writer
Wayne State University School of Medicine
I'm a fourth year medical student in Detroit pursuing a longtime passion in oncology. Oncology presented itself to me as the perfect intersection of complex medicine, intense academia, and emotional challenges. And at the heart of all this, the love for treating the patient join these three facets. But the foil to this love is the darkness that cancer exudes. Like a black hole, the gravity that cancer carries with it further binds these aspects of oncology tighter. And in these moments, the difference between medical science and the art of medicine become evermore apparent. Raw emotions and difficult decisions present themselves relentlessly. And it's my goal to capture these nuances and complexities in writing to paint a picture of the human complex.