Anatomy: A Cadaveric Poem
Anatomy is more than flesh and bone and blood. / It’s more than the donor and the scalpel teaching the student.
Anatomy is more than flesh and bone and blood. / It’s more than the donor and the scalpel teaching the student.
good morning, i’m the medical student / i must ask how you are feeling / even though my eyes already sting
A fog of emotions blankets the waiting room / Stress and anxiety, with some impending doom.
Logan’s healing was in his death. Mine was in a game of Monopoly.
If someone asks me how my first year of medical school went, half of the time I dismiss them with a one-word answer, saving them from a conversation they aren’t ready to have. The other half of the time, I tell the truth, just to see what they have to say.
Over the next few days, workup revealed she was experiencing paraneoplastic cerebellar degeneration, a manifestation of her occult cancer. In a matter of three days, a patient who had come in for seemingly benign constipation was told she had metastatic lung cancer.
After our first week on clinical rotations, my third-year medical student colleagues laughed about the silly and awkward things that made their first days hard. Someone was shunned for bumping into the sterile field during their first operation. Someone else couldn’t figure out the scrub machines and was stuck mismatching for the day.
Mr. Adams had heart; I will give him that. Presenting for ankle pain, altered mental status and shortness of breath, it quickly became apparent that a far more worrisome picture was being painted with each passing day.
Screams. Tears. Despair. / A sense of sadness in the atmosphere.
Every medical student has felt apprehensive about facing death at some point, right? Maybe you have experienced someone dying before, or maybe it is something you have never seen and only rarely contemplated. Regardless, there is a subtle tension lurking during your first two years of pre-clinical studies, during which disease and death are intellectualized and abstract. Then clerkships start.
Uvalde / I hear the cries of children as they play at the school across the street / They are joyful and exuberant as they play in the Texas heat / unaware of the fear that will soon be unleashed
Tears for the dead, tears for the living / who persist in this world that is so unforgiving