The Waiting Game
But the profound repercussion of four biopsies was the not knowing: waiting a week for the test results to come back.
But the profound repercussion of four biopsies was the not knowing: waiting a week for the test results to come back.
Not knowing is an uncomfortable state for health professional and patient alike. And it’s striking how often, despite my profession’s reverence for knowledge and certainty, I’m unsure–or simply don’t have the answers.
An Editor’s Invitation: Not Knowing Read More »
Here’s what they should have told you: “We found cancer in your lymph nodes, your liver, your lungs and your brain. It explains your weight loss, your difficulty breathing and your loss of appetite. This wasn’t just your depression, like you thought. It started in your lungs, and now it’s everywhere. This cancer has been growing for quite some time. You cannot, even with the strongest medications and the longest surgeries, make this cancer disappear. It is too powerful. It is here to stay.”
They should have said, “We wish we had better news, but it looks very serious. Still, we’re here to care for you. We will not let you feel alone. Imagine the place you want to spend the last hours, days, months of your life. Which people do you want to be surrounded by? What do you want to read or listen to? What foods and smells bring you the most joy? We want you to go to this place. Eat as many macaroons as you like, burn your favorite candle, hold your two daughters close.”
What Did the Doctor Say? Read More »
if you happened to pass by room 2
in a medical practice somewhere uptown
some time in the spring
you would’ve heard
laughter
a medical student and her patient
giggling like toddlers
right in the middle of the cranial nerve exam
what a thing to hear
if only i could write that prescription
laughter po prn
no copay required
Pris Campbell
About the artist:
Pris Campbell has created graphics for haiga and has twice been published in Pulse. She was a clinical psychologist before ME/CFS rended her housebound. She makes her home with her husband in the Greater West Palm Beach area.
About the artwork:
“This is the last morning my husband spent with our cat before Spike crossed the Rainbow Bridge. The death of a beloved pet is like losing a member of the family, so this was a heartbreaking time.”
Sara Kohrt
Together Through the Rainbow Bridge Read More »
I need to see Justin before my workday commences. I’m a social worker at the outpatient cancer center where Justin has been treated for an aggressive colon cancer.
Seeing him today means visiting him in the hospital, up the road from the center.
It’s almost surreal.
When I first met Justin, nearly two years ago, he looked every bit the linebacker–well over six feet tall, with a girth to match. A man in his late fifties, he had a booming voice and an engaging personality. He was married, a successful wining-and-dining stockbroker, active in his town and in the local Italian American Society.
“You ever work with vets?” asks the young man sitting across from me in the hospital waiting room.
He’s been sitting there all morning. So have I. Since 5:30 am, my father-in-law, age eighty-eight, has been undergoing surgery to remove a tumor in his lung. The surgeons just sent word that they’ve finished, and my wife and her mother have gone to the post-op room to see him.
Waiting for them to return, my wife’s sister and I have been talking about her son, who’s thinking of joining the Air Force.
“Warn him about the recruiters and their shiny promises,” I say. “Tell him they’re all a bunch of liars.”
“That’s for damn sure,” the man says.
We smile at each other and chat for a bit, then my sister-in-law starts messing with her cellphone, opting out of the conversation.
The man tells me that he was in the Army for twenty years, including combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Sara Kohrt
About the artist:
Sara Kohrt is a researcher, analyzing dialogues between patients and providers to identify communication gaps, and serves as the visuals editor for Pulse. She and her son live in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Western North Carolina.
About the artwork:
“I was attending a weekend workshop through the narrative-medicine program at Columbia University, and we were given an assignment to produce an image or creative work on the theme of care. I was walking in the neighborhood where I was staying and took a wrong turn, but ended up going in the right direction to discover this sign outside of a West Village townhome. The sign reads, If we all do one random act of kindness daily we just might set the world in the right direction.”
Sara Kohrt
The World in the Right Direction Read More »
After a long night, the frigid morning air slapped me awake as I walked out of the hospital from just attending a delivery. Once home, I decided I had enough energy to do a “high intensity” workout and signed myself up to go in an hour.
I made myself a strong cup of coffee and changed into my gym clothes, pretending I was just starting a new day. Back into the cold with the coffee lingering on my breath, I headed out again.
Bill has always been one of my healthiest patients. In his mid-sixties, I see him for annual check-ups and for one minor complaint or another. He is proud of his healthy lifestyle and has an air of invicibility about him. He often rants about how people are lazy and bring illness on themselves.
I’ve grown accustomed to handing Bill far more reassurance than prescriptions. Until this week, that is, when he pointed to his mid-chest and began to tell me his story.
Tell Me It’s Nothing to Worry About Read More »