The rhythmic clash of the kartal, a copper instrument, marked the beginning of our Sunday dance extravaganza. “Chak De India” pulsed through the air, a Bollywood anthem that ignited our spirits. Didi, a kartal maestro, kept the beat steady, a rhythm that mirrored the pounding of my heart as I twirled and leaped, lost in the joy of dance. In a small town where everyone knew each other’s stories, dance was my mother’s gift to …
“They should have a vaccine for cancer.” Tears were running down his face and onto his lap as I passed him another tissue. He couldn’t continue chemotherapy until the wound on his leg healed. It was my fourth day on my pediatric plastic surgery rotation as a third-year medical student and I was learning how to do a wound vacuum-assisted closure. He begged us to leave him alone. “I want my knee back,” he started …
Oh God, what time is it? I stumbled over to my bedside table in pitch-black darkness, thanks to my new blackout curtains, which continue to be the best financial decision I have ever made, and checked my phone that was blasting my alarm.
Going into my third year of medical school, my goals were simple: survive and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. My first clerkship was surgery, and what a chaotic start it was. I often felt like a burden on my team. I knew nothing and asked the exhausted, busy residents a lot of questions. I was a walking ball of anxiety those first four weeks: How many questions was too many? How many questions was not enough?
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.
She sat on her bed in a bright magenta shirt covered in glittery animals, with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Her green eyes were trained on the muted television broadcasting Disney cartoons, and her bed was strewn with coloring books and crayons. This scene looked quite different from the other overdoses we had been consulted on. Still, our attending calmly walked up to her bedside, introduced our bustling team and asked the universal question,
There is a darkness that lingers above. / Alive and breathing, / Short shallow breaths.
We often find inspiration in our ability as humans to create anew. I too fall prey to the promises of New Year resolutions and birthday candles, beckoning to us with the allure that our future rests in our hands.
In the pediatric ICU, a call was received from another hospital to give sign out for a patient already en route. The child being transferred had experienced a traumatic brain injury. The child was intubated after receiving every sort of therapeutic management imaginable in a desperate attempt to salvage any remaining brain function, but the prognosis was dire.
Upon meeting the new children I was babysitting, the little girl Elason immediately asked me if I brought my stethoscope. Her mom had told her that I was a medical student. In the eyes of Elason and Kaje, that made me a superhero. It didn’t matter that I was at the bottom of the food chain in the medical world.
She came alone / Messy auburn hair with curls flowing / Tiny and silent / Taking up a third of the bed
mom, what’s loo-skeem-ya? / oh okay — does that mean I’m loo-skeem-ya?
Contributing Writer
Stanford University School of Medicine
Vivian is a second year medical student at Stanford University School of Medicine in Stanford, CA Class of 2022. In 2017, she graduated from Stanford with a Bachelor of Arts in human biology with a concentration in global health and development. She then pursued a Fulbright in Uganda working on maternal and child health. She enjoys swing dancing, writing, and creating music in her free time. In the future, Vivian would like to pursue a career in psychiatry.
