Frontline
Mask on. / Your own protective prison / the air is stale but clean, you hope.
Tag: poetry
Contributing Writer
Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine
Maria is a fourth year medical student at Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine in Chicago, IL, class of 2022. In 2018, she graduated from Illinois Wesleyan University with a Bachelor of Arts in biology and Spanish. She enjoys traveling, reading, exploring the city, and trying new foods in her free time. After graduating medical school, Maria would like to pursue a career in internal medicine, with an emphasis on health equity and medical education.
Tomorrow
They did not want to disclose that I was dying. Out of respect for my family’s wishes, my cultural values and ultimately myself. But they forgot to respect my right to know, my right to choose which way to go, my right to see tomorrow and the fading of the sunset glow.
In My Place
Congratulations, you finally made it! / You pushed past when you wanted to quit. / White coat in hand, smile on your face, / I’m sorry to tell you that medicine will put you in your place.
Thick Skin
They say to be tough is to have thick skin, but I say to have thick tears. / Skin? It can collect pimples, papercuts, and pus, can be scratched, scraped, and sliced.
Head in Our Hands
Take him to the ICU, / Now. / Trauma, Level 1, coming from just outside of triage.
Death Reel
The doctor motioned to sit, turned a chair / to face the monitor. A perfectly lovely office. / Natural light from the barren window / gathered in circles around my feet.
The Infinite
Blue latex feels slick against / my hands. I grip my instrument tightly, / surprised breath escaping me as / the scalpel quickly reveals
Riddle
It does not grace your ears, / but you can hear it. / It does not touch your skin, / but you feel its pull. / It can’t be seen or read / but nonetheless, it guides you.
Your Body
Your body lay on the table, wrapped in shrouds / while robed students gathered around, / Your body lay on the table, skin leathery and strong, / I imagined what stories it bore, what paths it traveled along.
Impact of a Cadaver
Gloves first, then scalpel blades gathered, / instructor books and an atlas. / What yearning and churning my mind feels, / unsure what learning to expect.
first death
After hours of struggle, noise, / knife and clamp and lung flapping wetly / like a broken bird wing in an open chest, / there is this part, the dismantling.
first code
“We kept him alive to let his family say goodbye, / and sometimes that’s the biggest victory.”
Contributing Writer
Duke University School of Medicine
Lee is a second year medical student at Duke University School of Medicine in Durham, NC, class of 2022. In 2018, she graduated from Vanderbilt University with a Bachelor of Arts in psychology and neuroscience with Highest Honors in neuroscience. Outside of the hospital she enjoys running, yoga, singing, and shirking her responsibilities to go to concerts. After graduation, Lee plans to enter general surgery residency, eventually becoming a trauma and critical care surgeon.
