“Stories Unsaid, Yet Told”
A spoken word piece dedicated to the generous donors and their families of the Donor Body Program at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine.
A spoken word piece dedicated to the generous donors and their families of the Donor Body Program at the UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine.
Waiting in the snow for the 43, / Mind focused on the cold. / The bitter wind, the bus kneeling
In his 2019 Netflix Special, comedian Ronnie Chieng made some of the most astute (and hilarious) observations on a long held Asian-American model minority stereotype. In a short three minute segment, Ronnie delivered over the top impressions of Asian parents’ carnal thirst for ‘money and prestige’ that’s only quenched by having a doctor in the family.
When I was a child, I lost my grandpa to cancer. I used to promise him that I would become a health care provider and heal him, but unfortunately he passed away when I was in twelfth grade. Later, I joined medical school at the University of Rwanda, where I became involved in student-led research, health promotion practices and knowledge measurement.
In elementary school, Indigenous land lived in my imagination as an expansive, beautiful and windy place. Images from storybooks painted pictures of golden plains speckled with horses, an oasis away from my suburban hometown. History is told in stories and these were the stories we were told.
Focus on breathing. Don’t think about how you’d rather be doing anything else on the planet right now. Focus on breathing. Quit reciting the pathophysiology of those diseases you got wrong on last week’s quiz. You’re thinking in circles, stop it. But if I tell myself not to think about something, doesn’t that mean I’m already thinking about it?
Going into my third year of medical school, my goals were simple: survive and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. My first clerkship was surgery, and what a chaotic start it was. I often felt like a burden on my team. I knew nothing and asked the exhausted, busy residents a lot of questions. I was a walking ball of anxiety those first four weeks: How many questions was too many? How many questions was not enough?
My understanding of the reality of pursuing a career as a physician was shattered when I started my third year of medical school. When I entered the double doors of the hospital, I was no longer the main character of my day. Instead, my attending’s patients became the highest priority and feedback transitioned to how I could improve to better serve them.
It started at the age of five. Fair and Lovely — India’s favorite skin-lightening and beautifying cream. I owe this regimen my first memorable medical concern; a rash that angered the skin on my face to scar over redden, burn and peel. I hid indoors for two days, embarrassed for others to see me in public. When the reaction subsided, I remained embarrassed of what stayed — the same ugly dirty brown skin.
When I told my aunt I was going to medical school, she looked me up and down and said, “So you’re going to be a know-it-all.”
As you search your closet / For your scrub cap, / Stethoscope, / And pants,
When you begin clinical rotations in medical school, people encourage you to be as involved as possible in patient care. They tell you to take initiative, to challenge yourself.