6 y/o F: Patient Perspective of Illness
mom, what’s loo-skeem-ya? / oh okay — does that mean I’m loo-skeem-ya?
Tag: Poetry Thursdays
Poetry Thursdays is our initiative to highlight poetry and prose by medical students, with a new post every Thursday. If you are interested in contributing or would like to learn more, please contact our editors.
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.
A Touch of Kindness
In the operating room, a man immediately recognized and greeted me / Even though I wore a surgical mask. / His welcoming expression was familiar to me, but I couldn’t pinpoint how I knew him.
Nose
I take a deep breath / to calm myself / before walking into the storm / of OR shadowing.
Daydream
On the other side there is a home, / With green grass, red rosebushes, and a pool where sharks swim in the deep end.
To the Girl with the Golden Heart Earrings
There lives a city only with pairs permitting. / Two lungs move together with love in the air / she takes his breath away when they’re a pair.
Is This Man or Is This Flesh?
Is this man or is this flesh / That implores my expertise? / Is it meat or is it human / When we meet, which do I see?
Hanging On
The scent of illness, stifling and spoiled / Masked by antiseptics.
The Eternal: The Untouchable
What an endeavor it is: / To reach out and touch humanity.
Operational
Blood flakes / fall onto the /blue, sterile field from / crimson-smeared green / light grips.
Starved
She suffers from bouts of amenorrhea. / She masticates as often as the day is black.
Afterthoughts on Palliative Care
His breaths are heavy when we walk in. / Abdomen distended: / a large, perfect half-sphere…
There Is No Sound
There is no sound / like that of a heart breaking.
Contributing Writer
University of Rochester School of Medicine
Jennifer is a fourth year medical student at University of Rochester School of Medicine and Dentistry in Rochester, NY. She graduated from University of Washington with a Bachelor of Arts in anthropology and biochemistry. She enjoys hiking, writing, and traveling in her free time. After graduating medical school, Jennifer will pursue a career in emergency medicine.