Sharing personal experiences of giving and receiving health care
Clean. Dry. Intact.
The bus is crowded today, and January sleet splashes against the windows. The damp of each of us thickens the air. I breathe in a miasma of germs and others’ breath. My scarf wets my face as the snow melts. An eternity goes by before we reach the downtown stop. From here, I’ll take one more bus to get to the hospital where I work as a physician assistant on a team that treats infections involving blood vessels and the heart. I’m huddled an appropriate distance from the other commuters, my back to the wind.
Tourette Syndrome
Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.” “Hello. My name is Joan, and I have Tourette syndrome.” This is my fantasy greeting when meeting people. It would give them notice that there’s something different about me—that I have a chronic neurological condition. It would alert them that I might make repetitive, annoying sounds, like clearing my throat or sniffing; or suddenly make a strange body movement, like flinging out my arm or jerking my head or shuddering. Not to mention the unexpected outbursts of irrational anger.
The Art of Listening
Reflecting on the start of my medical studies and career, I realize that it took me more than ten years to refine my ability to practice the art of listening. Partly that may have been because English is not my mother tongue; but it was also because listening is an arduous task. As Kate Murphy writes in her book You’re Not Listening: What You’re Missing & Why It Matters: “Understanding is the goal of listening, and it takes effort.” My first hard lesson in this area occurred when I was a medical student, doing research at a needle-exchange program. A patient named Haris had been screened for HIV, and his test result was positive. He was the first patient to whom I had to give such bad news.
More Voices
Every month readers tell their stories — in 40 to 400 words — on a different healthcare theme.
November 2021
October 2021
September 2021
New Voices
Stories by those whose faces and perspectives are underrepresented in media and in the health professions.
“Teach to Fish for Tomorrow”
It’s a typical Friday night in New Orleans. The streets are brimming with people from all over the world looking for a night of fun in the Big Easy. I check the time: 5:45 pm. It’s a little more than a mile from my apartment to Ozanam Inn, a shelter for the unhoused where I work as the coordinator for the student-run Tulane Tuberculosis Screening Clinic Program. My shift tonight runs from 6:00-8:00 pm.
A Different Kind of Different
Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.” Every parent likes to think their child is one in a million. What if you’re the parent of an individual who is more like one in 326 million? Society in general has started to be more cognizant of disabilities—some disabilities more than others. For instance, Down syndrome awareness and acceptance has excelled in the past several years, and schools have made efforts to teach inclusion and acceptance of students with special needs.
Unasked, Unanswered
“Hi! I’m Reni, the medical student here today,” I say to the cargo pant-clad teenager sitting hunched on the exam table. “My pronouns are she/her. What are your name and pronouns?” My smooth delivery is only somewhat ruined by my almost falling off the stool as I try to sit down hands-free. I look up once I’m less precariously perched, awaiting a reply. “Oh, I’m Sam,” they shrug. “And any are fine.”
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Poems
Six Sutures
She did not slice the bandage snugged about the numb toe but tickled an end open to begin the unwinding. She unwound the gauze slowly as she turned her head to see where the cloth stuck to itself and how to cut it.
Vinegar and Good Wood
You often speak to my brother from the bottle of apple-cider vinegar fermented for years but saved just in case in the back of his spice cabinet. You can tell him how to make your banana bread and your hamburger gravy till they are no longer yours, being generally better.
Amor Fati
Fortunate to have a heavy coat and camp pants in the nightlong cold, we find you face down in a field rewarming like a lizard near dead of an overdose— leaves of grass imprinted on your body catatonic, eyes swollen from allergens. All you can do is drool, mutter, hallucinate and punch the sky.