2016 Writers-in-Training Program Director
Emory School of Medicine
Hi, I'm a third year medical student at Emory University. I graduated in May 2014 from Duke University with majors in Neuroscience and English. I like fiction, penguins, discussions about race relations and feminist theory, makeup tutorials, and bubble tea. I may not be able to give you lots of medical advice, but if you need a couple cat videos to brighten up your day, you've come to the right person.
The entirety of the third year of medical school is an act. If you want to be a good medical student, you are what your team wants you to be. Amenable, pliant, easygoing — even when inside you are a bitter angry little thing who’s tired of being pushed around.
Given my time constraints as a third-year, I thought that maybe I could change things up — instead of going to an activity to help alleviate stress, I could ask someone older and wiser than me for tips on how to de-stress. And who better to ask for advice than my 79-year-old grandmother?
I first met you at age 13. / You hid behind a / camouflage of naivety.
As a first-generation Singaporean American, I sometimes think about the stark contrast in richness between the age-old historical narratives of Asian countries and those of acculturated Asian Americans.
Monopoly, Risk, Parcheesi — I love them all. Board games have been an integral part of my life since I was young, and I attribute my childish competitiveness to the number of times I was beaten in these games in my childhood.
I slide through the door swung open by the janitor. It closes with a metallic shudder.
And what does it mean now? To be accepted? To be initiated, congratulated and nudged toward a curriculum made jokingly infamous by well-meaning administrators and by a culture which treats such consuming endeavors as medical school like abstract forms of busyness?
As a budding third year just starting out on my clinical rotations, I’ve recently learned the value of a home-cooked meal — there’s only so much take-out Chinese, microwaveable pizza rolls, and leftovers from last week’s lunch that my tastebuds will tolerate. It was only when one of my friends pointed out that it’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve eaten a vegetable that I realized I needed to make changes in my life: specifically, culinary ones.
On the first day of my neonatology elective I met Aaron, a one-day-old infant born to a mother with a history of intravenous drug abuse. The mother was reportedly attending a methadone clinic during her pregnancy to address her opioid addiction, but her urine drug screen was positive for fentanyl.
A sketch from fourth-year medical student Leor Arbel of the University of Central Florida.
Through the automated doors of the psych hospital, / the man walked / until he reached the front desk.
In the middle, he stood / Between darkness and good / Both selves beckoning him to a side / And in the fight, a small piece of him died
Contributing Writer
Mahatma Gandhi Medical College and Research Institute, Pondicherry
I am a medical student in the first year aged 18, studying at Mahtma Gandhi Medical College and Research Institute in Pondicherry, India. Love to travel and try new food. Write a bit of poetry and most probably am going to be joining Doctors Without Borders after I finish my studies.
