Page 131 – Pulse

The Joy of Getting Older

Whenever I talk about getting older with those who are older than me, I see the same facial expression. I like to describe it as a scowl: a blank stare with a raised eyebrow. Every so often I get the sad droop of a head as it shakes side to side. Sometimes it’s even coupled with a smirk, seemingly saying: “Oh, child, you have no idea!”

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Mortality and Morbidity Conference

3 Comments / Poems / Rosemary Zimmermann

I imagined something Victorian.
Perhaps I imagined a lecture hall filled with side-whiskered,
Sherlockian doctors, arguing case histories
like gentlemen playing chess with death–
or perhaps I imagined priests,
performing absolution at the bier.

I did not have to imagine the grey
underground conference room.
I was unsurprised at the bitter
coffee, the keening of the projector, the recalcitrant
bangs from the water pipes–

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In the waiting room: a history, a haunting

1 Comment / visuals / Sara Kohrt

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Birthday Card Campaign

2 Comments / Aging / Marilyn Barton

My awesome friend, Flo, worked as the RN nurse manager of the Spinal Cord Unit at the Veterans Administration hospital for many years. During that time, she married, raised twins and earned a master’s degree. Then, in 1990, she came to work at my hospital, and we’ve been friends ever since.

Flo was generous, had a great sense of humor and always saw the best in people. We said she looked at the world through rose-colored glasses.

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Gratitude and Generosity

Leave a Comment / Aging / Joseph Fennelly

After fifty-six years of practicing primary internal medicine, I retired in my ninetieth year. The goodbyes and well wishes were only the tip of an iceberg in which my patients and I shared the journey of their illnesses together, and I was honored to serve as a guide in their odyssey.

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I Used to Be Happy about My Birthday

1 Comment / Aging / Lynn O'Donnell

My mother was forty-nine when she died of primary pulmonary hypertension. She was a non-smoker and a non-drinker, but she had a tremendous amount of stress in her life. After being told she could not have a management job because she was a woman, she sued her employer for discrimination. These were the days of the “women’s liberation movement.”

My mother won her lawsuit, but she died before it was settled. I blame the stress of the lawsuit on her illness and untimely death.

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Lovebirds

9 Comments / Stories / As told to Kristen Lee

Editor’s Note: During a summer internship with Pulse, medical student Kristen Lee had the opportunity to interview Mr. C, who comes to a Bronx family health center for medical care. He was accompanied by his wife, who never goes to the doctor for herself but frequently joins her husband to make sure that he’s giving his doctor accurate information. They are both immigrants to the Bronx–he from the Dominican Republic and she from Puerto Rico. Their immigrant story is uniquely theirs and also typically American. See their photo at the story’s end.

Mrs. C: I’ve known him for forty-five years. That’s how long we’ve been married. I was old when we got married, like thirty-three. He was seven years younger than me, but we’re still here. We met when I went to the Dominican Republic. My big sister was married to a Dominican guy; that guy was close to him. And he told him that to get to the US–

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the jay

2 Comments / Haiku / Barbara Sabol

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King of Pain

13 Comments / Stories / James G. Mackey

I am a retired union plumber with the state of Illinois. I’ve had laparoscopic surgery on both knees, a lower back surgery that required two stainless rods and I’m not sure how many screws, and three cervical fusions. I now suffer from neuropathy (nerve dysfunction) in my feet. They’re painfully numb: A shoe could come off, and I wouldn’t know it. I find it difficult to get around–not to mention embarrassing when I go back into a restaurant looking for a sandal.

I don’t understand why in today’s world, with medical research moving so fast, I’m in so much pain.

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Medical Manners

Ortho Call Room

Leave a Comment / visuals / Lisa Sieczkowski

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Pericardium

Leave a Comment / Afraid / Archana Bharadwaj

It’s still dark outside as I, a rising second-year medical student, make my way through the doors of the hospital. After changing into my scrubs, I head over to the pre-operative area in search of my preceptor. Along with the third-year resident, I find my preceptor at the patient’s bedside. My preceptor points to the ultrasound, which shows the patient’s narrowed, abnormal artery. They already completed the pre-operative debrief and have begun physically preparing the patient for surgery. As the central line is placed, the patient moans.

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