Deceased Note: Facing Death as a Medical Student
I opened their chart and scrolled to the recent notes section. A new title I had never seen before popped on the screen. There, at the top of the chart, “Deceased Note” was written in bold letters.
Tag: death and dying
Contributing Writer
UT Southwestern Medical School
Isaac Myres is a fourth-year medical student at UT Southwestern Medical School in Dallas, TX. After growing up in San Diego, CA, he earned a BS in Biophysics at Brigham Young University. He will be applying into Otolaryngology this year. In what free time exists, he plays volleyball and pickleball, reviews donut stores, and competes in local trivia nights with friends.
On Rounds
Because I could not stop for death, / He kindly asked I pause. / My arms were full of sterile wraps, / Scissors, tape, and gauze.
I’ll Call Her Tiffany
Pink playdough littered the exam table, sink, counter and floor. In a flash, a thin child, all elbows and knees, jumped athletically from the sink counter to the exam table and then to the floor, stomping over my feet in the process.
Sensing The Emergency Department
“Three, two, one … lift,” the circulating nurse directs as I raise the patient’s feet from the trauma table onto the recovery bed, gushing with the giddiness of getting to use my hands in a medical setting for the first time.
To Grieve Appropriately
What does it mean to “grieve appropriately?” / To silently cry / as to not break the fragility in the air.
Meditations on Mortality
One of the most powerful paradoxes of medical education is that we learn how to heal the living by dissecting the dead. Our cadavers house the beauty and intricacies of human creation, the distinctiveness yet commonality of each human body and the finality of decline.
Air Hunger
His diseased lungs / stiff like dry clay / function like gills out of the water.
Dying Is Not
Dying is not / as romantic as I once thought. / I think you always knew this.
Souvenirs
Mr. G was a patient I met while on the surgical oncology service. He was in his early 50s, a loving husband and the father of two children. He was the middle sibling with two brothers. He also battled metastatic cancer.
Abrasions, by Morgan Shier, MD
My mother likes to tell the story of how, as a small child, I referred to the superficial wounds sustained in my first head-over-handlebars accident as an “abrasion.” I remember staring at my knee, fascinated by my body’s ability to heal itself. The sacred anatomy of wounds, atoms as spacious as galaxies, coalescing and woven with no instruction of my own to renew what had been lost.
Caduceus
Should the symbol of medicine bear one snake or two? / If you answered two, then the joke is on you! / Or, at least, that’s the current popular view.
Trauma Shift
I imagine her mother / Squeezing daughter’s limp hand / Silent tears
Contributing Writer
Emory University School of Medicine
Cally is a fourth-year medical student at the Emory University School of Medicine who is applying into Ob/Gyn in the 2022-2023 cycle. She graduated from Dartmouth College in 2018 with a Bachelor of Arts in Anthropology. Her interests include climate change and environmental health, the relationship between language and culture, and reproductive justice.