fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

Anonymous

The Changing Course of Dementia

Every morning, my grandparents would make breakfast, go for a walk, and drive to our house for lunch. In the afternoon, Grandfather watched football while Grandmother read magazines or worked in the garden. She planned to grow tomatoes once the spring rolled around.

She never did plant those tomatoes. In an unexpected cascade of events, my grandfather was diagnosed with terminal cancer. And while my grandmother had been struggling with her memory for a while, her dementia took a drastic turn after his diagnosis. She acted out in ways that were unlike her: calling the police, chasing my ill grandfather through their house with a knife, barraging my mother with terrible insults. I saw firsthand how much strain families and caregivers experience.

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Christmas at My Place

I turned back to look at him only once, that insane parody of Jesus on the rood, his face turned away in death, arms stretched wide, a small white towel draped over his manhood. I stood there in the E.R. covered in the blood he’d spray-painted me with as he lay dying from a gunshot wound to the chest. Blood spray in my hair, my eyelashes, on my lips and in my mouth. My new white shoes with the stylish aerating holes, also bore the shocking red of a life too soon ended.

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Darkness Amidst Celebration

We regret to inform you…

My heart sank into the depths of my stomach, and it felt like it was being digested slowly by my stomach acid. I dropped my phone and pinched myself hoping to wake up from this cruel nightmare. I couldn’t feel my pinch. I was completely numb.

The unimaginable idea of not matching to a residency program had suddenly become a reality. It felt as if years of hard work had instantly evaporated.

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“I Would Lose Everything”

My boyfriend and I were both pre-med students, about five years after the Roe v. Wade decision. We were studying for the MCAT. I was using a diaphragm for contraception.

I was, admittedly, a knucklehead, but boys can be knuckleheads in this arena without much in the way of consequences, while girls cannot afford to take chances. Right around the time that I realized that my boyfriend didn’t really love me, my period was late.

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