An Estonian hospital, June 2017
The doctor motioned to sit, turned a chair
to face the monitor. A perfectly lovely office.
Natural light from the barren window
gathered in circles around my feet.
These are pictures she said, and I knew
there was nothing emotional there for her.
Only facts. I’ve collected over the years
interesting cases of fetal abortion.
The folder clicked open and hatched
into my memory, unshelled itself awake.
Anencephaly, no brain she pointed
as a tiny red face appeared, almost
small enough to never have been.
Early trisomy 21. My eyes followed lines
across wrinkled, chokecherry palms.
This teaching moment deformed
into an unwelcome sideshow, every
morbid act more crimson than the last.
And this baby would have been born
without a hand. I stopped and clenched
my own. Life without would still be
life, would still be an abundance. The
delicate nub lay limp beside a ruler.
I faced away. A perfectly lovely wrist.
Poetry Thursdays is an initiative that highlights poems by medical students and physicians. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
Medical Student Editor and Contributing Writer
UT Southwestern Medical School
Steven is a third-year medical student at UT Southwestern Medical School in Dallas, Texas (Class of 2022). In 2018, he graduated from Brigham Young University with a Bachelor of Science in microbiology and Russian. He enjoys eating curry, writing poetry, and hiking in his free time. In the future, he would like to pursue a career in primary care and global health.