Audrey Lyu is a first year medical student at Rush Medical College in Chicago, IL. She graduated from the University of Maryland, College Park in 2023 with a degree in Neuroscience. You would find her making art or playing with her bunny in her free time. Audrey hopes to pursue a career in psychiatry.
when i die, donate my body to science. for perhaps i may be dissected, by childlike hands and fresh minds, whose shoes I once stood in. open my body, peel back the layers of fascia and adipose, swallowed with that in which I lived for. when they open my abdominal cavity, may they learn my favorite foods, the myeokguk i ate every birthday, and my love for candies, that painted my stomach red. and in …
There’s a room down the hall where a woman sits in silence, a shadow of herself, caught between jobs, between her husband’s labored breaths— the shallow rise and fall of waiting. They call it hospice, but only for those whose time they deem nearly spent. Yet her husband, with days stretched tight as thread, fails to meet the protocol, and now he’s slipping through the cracks of criteria, as if life were a ledger to …
Beating the chest, emergency surgery, stopping the bleed, The obvious ways to save a life, that which we all agree. Picture a doctor saving lives–what first comes to mind? The ER doc, the trauma surgeon, surely the first to find. But we often fail to see beyond in more subtle ways, How other doctors save lives through different displays. The patient with chronic back pain, feeling death the only solution, Relieved from misery by a …
In halls of sterile light and steel, Where pulses echo, hearts to heal, A quiet truth begins to rise— Care can’t be measured by device. For every chart, each test result, There lies a gap, a hidden fault, Where voices lost, unheard, remain— A silent burden wrapped in pain. From city streets to rural lanes, Health divides in unseen chains, A mother waits, her voice denied, As walls of care grow far and …
My patient sleeps peacefully. / I wake him guiltily. / I don’t want my face to be the first he sees.
The year turns four. / April weeps: the vootery / Of a heart too weak / To hold the stifling tears until December.
Medicine is a march, but it’s not like Sherman’s to the sea. You don’t burn what you leave, and the sea is always just beyond the next hill.
A few winters ago, you called me after a ski accident and announced / “I have fractured my tibial plate.”
Draped the head and steadied the bed / For the life-saving aneurysm clipping, / I stop thinking of my former life.
Your Smile / Wrinkles, / Where my jokes weren’t funny.
Filled with fear and pain but love and hate / To raise it alone since he never agreed
We stand beneath tin roofs / with raindrops on our lips / regret behind our eyes.
Editor-in-Chief Emeritus (2020-2021) and Former Managing Editor (2019-2020)
Emergency Medicine Resident, UC Davis Medical Center
Sam is an emergency medicine resident at UC Davis Medical Center. He attended the Mayo Clinic School of Medicine, graduating in 2021. In 2017, he graduated from the United States Air Force Academy with a Bachelor of Science in biochemistry. He enjoys reading, writing, yoga, skiing and rock climbing in his free time.
Note: The opinions expressed by Sam on in-Training are his own. They do not reflect the opinion of the U.S. Air Force, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. government.
