Gearing up for my night shift in the COVID-19 intensive-care unit, I don my personal protective equipment (PPE)–a white plastic air-purifying respirator (PAPR) hood. The hood connects via a tube to a large battery pack that I strap onto my waist over my scrubs. I turn on the battery and shiver when the rush of […]
I Would Like to Call It Beauty Read More »
Whisper me into the chambers of bone, honeycomb of marrow, talisman bleached, rib of grey dove,
June 23, 2020 To our Pulse community, For the next few days, Pulse will not be able to accept website submissions, comments or donations. This is so that Pulse can relocate to a beautiful new home on the Web. By the end of the week, you should be able to make your submission, post
A patient walked in with her child, who was probably about four years old. I greeted the child, but he wanted nothing to do with me. He said, “I don’t like her. I don’t like that color!” I thought maybe I’d misunderstood him. Then he said, loud and clear, “I don’t like Black.” His mother,
We Can No Longer Remain Silent Read More »
I am a White woman with privilege. My parents preached that all people are created equal, but we lived in White communities. Talk is easy. When I was in high school, my father was transferred and we moved. With many more Black persons in Virginia, Maryland, and D.C., my mother’s true views emerged. It was 1962, and as we
I Am a White Woman Read More »
After forty-three years as a nephrologist-internist and teacher, I recently retired from medicine. This final stage of life is a time of reflection. Was I a good physician? On a more fundamental level, was I a good friend, husband and father? Despite its many challenges, I have never regretted following my cherished vocation. There were
If harsh words fall, but no patient is around to hear them, do they make a sound? This particular night on my trauma-surgery rotation as a fourth-year medical student, the question weighs heavily as a page alerts the team that a patient with multiple gunshot wounds will arrive in ten minutes. Everyone’s kind of excited.
It was late in the evening, and I was ready to start my night shift as an intern in the intensive-care unit. I sought out my fellow intern, who was finishing his shift, so that we could perform signout–the ritual of passing the patients’ information from one clinician to the next. “Mrs. Klein in Bed
Editor’s Note: Since the end of March, Pulse has been carrying special edition pieces on the impact of the COVID-19 virus on patients, families and healthcare workers. In response to recent events, we bring you this special edition on Racism, which is also the theme of this month’s More Voices. In weeks to come, we
Some of the Hardest Weeks Read More »
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