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Latest Voices
Finding Hope in Theater
I tend to be a “cup is half-empty” person. The current situation in the world has deepened my darkness. At night, I hear the traffic from the main street outside my window. I imagine the sound of bombs heightening the noise, and I pull the quilt over my head. My heart aches for all the children, no matter their background, who are suffering—personal injury, loss of relatives, the trauma of separation and the unknown. With each passing day and each new “breaking news” announcement, my despair intensifies.
December More Voices: A Ray of Hope
Dear Pulse readers,
It was December. I was three months into my first year of medical school, and I wasn’t feeling right. I’d been incredibly thirsty for the past few weeks and been peeing an awful lot.
When I finally decided to get myself checked out at the student health service, the news wasn’t good: I was told I had diabetes. Not just diabetes, but type 1 diabetes, the kind they used to call juvenile onset. My body had stopped making insulin, and I would need to start injecting it.
Is It Safe Here?
I have always been aware that I am Jewish. In the antisemitic neighborhood where I was raised, my unique religious identity was central to all interactions. I was perpetually othered. Supposedly I was smart because I was Jewish. My (ugly) appearance was Jewish. My (weird) last name was Jewish. I was different. Undesirable.
Alternate Reality
I meet Paul on a 28-hour ICU shift. He displays his dimpled smile like a badge of honor even though his curly hair sticking to his forehead, his darker-than-usual hospital gown, and his sunken brown eyes tell me that his struggle with complications of esophageal cancer have been vast. Something about Paul’s spirit rewinds the clock.
Uprooted
It didn’t happen all at once, as I thought it would. But it did happen when they said it would. One afternoon, a few days before my second chemotherapy infusion, I noticed some loose hairs on my computer desk. In the shower that evening, I spotted a bird nest-like cluster on the drain.
Prejudice or Coincidence?
I have been a primary care doctor for twenty-eight years. In the past week, two patients have questioned my medical judgement and threatened me. I have feared going to the parking garage alone after clinic and have worried that I will be sued. Why, after all these years of a peaceful practice, have I experienced hate from my patients?
Roll Out the Barrel
I have generally thrived in school settings, first as a student and then as an educator. However, an experience in seventh grade—junior high—left me so traumatized that I feared I would never again feel comfortable going to school.
November More Voices: Traumatized
Dear Pulse readers,
This month’s More Voices theme is Traumatized. Today, as I write this, entire populations in Israel and Gaza are experiencing trauma. And friends and relatives of Palestinians and Jews in other parts of the globe are being traumatized from afar, as they hear heartbreaking news of injury and death.
Even those without personal connections to Israel or Gaza may be triggered by stories of families being ravaged by bullets and bombs.
As I thought about writing an introduction to this month’s theme, I couldn’t help but reflect that I’ve led a sheltered life.
Quick or Lengthy Decisions
One winter night, when I was a child, I kept asking for TUMS and spiked a fever. Intense pain shot through my body. My stomach felt hard as a rock. Our family physician rushed from his house nearby to check on me. Using a few tools from his medical bag, Dr. Hart performed an assessment.
