Contributing Writer
Florida International University Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine
Austin Guerrina is a third-year medical student at Florida International University Herbert Wertheim College of Medicine in the vibrant city of Miami, Florida. Passionate about the field of physical medicine and rehabilitation, Austin envisions a career dedicated to collaborating with patients to enhance their overall health, encompassing physical, mental, and emotional well-being.
On September 29, 2021, my world started to unravel. My first anatomy lab as a medical student had just begun. I stepped foot in the cadaver lab where the pungent odor of formaldehyde clung to the air, and I was overflowing with eagerness.
Throughout the COVID-19 pandemic, I kept myself sane by writing “Notes from the 13th Floor” — a series of moments I wished I could share with the outside world and the kind I never wanted to forget.
As a person still learning to manage grief, I have to remind myself that perfection doesn’t exist in our loved ones either. We are all imperfect beings, but the best we can do is try, believe in ourselves and tell some stupid jokes along the way.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” / She keeps repeating herself.
What does it mean to “grieve appropriately?” / To silently cry / as to not break the fragility in the air.
A classmate of mine committed suicide a few weeks ago. Though I’ve heard the harrowing statistics about physician and trainee suicide rates, to be honest, I never expected to personally encounter such a tragedy. The small classes at my medical school allow for a strong sense of community in which we all know each other, celebrate important life milestones, and happily reconnect when we’re together after clinical rotations scatter us throughout the hospital.
“Time of death: 12:26 p.m.” Hearing those words on the first day of my Intensive Care Unit (ICU) rotation was surreal when just a few hours ago we were discussing the patient’s status during rounds.
There is no sound / like that of a heart breaking.
I had felt strange during the week leading up to the last ultrasound. Pregnancy is a roller coaster of sensations, but that week had been off a little. I barely noticed the ultrasound tech rubbing the cold, blue gel on my massive belly. I wanted to hear that sound: that quiet, pulsing sound of my baby racing to be born.
a nightingale knows best. / her call comes forth / as the daylight dwindles, / and, listen… i hear her now.
Today was not sunny, but today James got to go outside. James is seven years old. Today, he was allowed to drink ginger ale. He’s never been allowed to drink what he wants. He hasn’t left the hospital in weeks. Since James was born, he has had an array of complications. He’s suffered numerous heart attacks, a nearly fatal hemorrhage, a stroke, renal failure, and has lived most of his life on dialysis. His doctors have tried heroic measures “to …
Kyle died early on a Sunday morning. His last meal was vanilla pudding, fed to him lovingly by his grandmother Shirley, while reruns of “Inspector Gadget” played in the background. When Kyle was born 25 years earlier, the family had been told he would not live more than a few weeks into infancy. But Kyle surprised everyone by surviving a quarter of a century with debilitating cerebral palsy. What surprised me most about Kyle was …
Contributing Writer Emeritus
The Commonwealth Medical College
Soroosh is a Class of 2015 medical student at The Commonwealth Medical College.
