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Eleventh Hour

16 Comments / Stories /

K.D. Hayes

Uncle Walt died this morning. Finally.

 I say “finally” because I believed this day would come four months ago, when he had emergency bypass surgery.

At the time, I didn’t believe Walt would live; he was an ailing, seventy-seven-year-old man with severe pulmonary disease. When his heart started to hurt one Friday, his doctors told him, “With bypass surgery, you might live. Without it, you’ll be dead before the weekend is over.”

Walt’s oldest daughter and my parents, who were with him, told me about the doctors’ recommendations.

As a retired paramedic, I’d seen this scenario before–often enough to have a strong opinion, and my own advance directives.

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She Lives in a Small Cell

8 Comments / Poems /

Linda Evans

She lives in a small cell
on the Maximum Security Unit
pregnant with her tenth love child
the other nine scattered 
like dried leaves in the wind. 
Beneath the baggy government-issued jumpsuit 
her belly swells and shifts with the weight of life
a heaviness of never hearing first words, 
seeing first steps, or kissing cherub cheeks goodnight, 
thoughts as chilling to the bone 
as the December blizzard outside.
Over the intercom Officer Ryan’s frantic voice, 
“She’s in labor!’

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Concierge Care

31 Comments / Stories /

Deborah Pierce

I am a family physician. Like most of my colleagues, though, I must sometimes step out of the comfort of my clinical role to take on the role of patient or family caregiver.

Generally, these trips to the other side of the exam table inspire a fair amount of anxiety.

During visits to the doctor, I find myself noticing many details and comparing the quality of care to that in my own practice. I worry about how the doctor will relate to me–will I be viewed as a knowledgeable colleague, or as someone who knows relatively little? Will my background be treated with respect? Will my needs as a patient or caregiver be acknowledged? The uncertainty eases only when the physician wins my trust by showing both competence and caring.

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Catching My Breath

7 Comments / Stories /

Pam Kress-Dunn

When he was five, my son Daniel went through a rough patch with his asthma. Both he and his sister Allison had been diagnosed the year before, when we were living in Colorado. I never knew if it was the fault of the pollution that too often smeared our view of the mountains, or my then-husband’s two-pack-daily cigarette habit. Or was it the unspoken shriek of anxiety?

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blum - grief and gratitude

Grief and Gratitude

Leave a Comment / visuals /

Alan Blum

About the artist: 

Alan Blum is a Professor and Gerald Leon Wallace MD Endowed Chair in Family Medicine at the University of Alabama School of Medicine in Tuscaloosa. A self-taught artist, he has published three books of his sketches and stories of patients, and his artworks have appeared in more than a dozen medical journals and textbooks. He is a frequent guest speaker at medical schools in courses in the humanities.

About the artwork:

“This sketch in ballpoint pen on the back of a prescription pad is of a woman I helped care for more than twenty-five years ago. During her first visit to the family-practice clinic, I had listened to her poignant history and had left the room to let her prepare for the physical examination. She was sad but composed. When I returned, however, she was quietly sobbing. ‘Our son committed suicide three years ago,’ she said. ‘We had to file for bankruptcy. The only thing I’m really happy about is my husband stopped drinking and driving for a whole year.’ ”

Visuals editor:

Justin Sanders

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Perspectives

9 Comments / Poems /

Andrea Gordon

She was a rainbows and unicorns girl,
predictable passions at appropriate ages.
Shy smile and just-above-average grades.

Yearly visits by the book, or, in this case,
computer screen prompts.
Milestones noted, talk about diet,
ceremonial exam, note straightness of spine.
All on track, along the mapped out course,
 until an extra visit at thirteen.
Mom had called: “She’s changed. I’m worried.”
Is she just becoming a normal teen?

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Be Lucky

15 Comments / Stories /

Kenneth Zeitler

In 1996, visiting a mall during an out-of-town trip, I suddenly felt dizzy while descending on the escalator. The sensation rapidly resolved, but to be on the safe side, I went to a local emergency room. My evaluation included a CT scan of my head; the results, I was told, were “normal.”

Shortly after returning home I received another call. The CT results were not normal, and I should see a neurologist to have an MRI scan.

I panicked, as anyone would, but I had more reason than most: I’m a medical oncologist. I knew the implications of this news, and they were mostly quite dire.

The MRI revealed a brain tumor, likely “low grade.” I found this a bit reassuring–but still, it was a tumor in my head! And its specific nature was unclear.

I felt tremendous sadness and fear for my family and for all that I would miss. I was only forty-six. My son was to enter Northwestern University in the fall, and my daughter was a junior in high school; their lives were just beginning. My wife would be a young widow.

After consulting with my physicians, I decided on watchful waiting, with monthly

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Wong Premature med

Premature

1 Comment / visuals /

Daniel Wong

About the artist: 

Daniel Wong is a recent Stanford graduate with plans to attend medical school. He is interested in the creative bond between art and medicine and the power of artistic expression to foster healing. Daniel finds art to be a unique method of human communication and finds visual arts a fascinating means of forming deep psychological connections with others. He works primarily in oils. More of his work can be found at dwong.net.

About the artwork:

“When I was in the womb, my mother’s OB-GYN looked at the ultrasound and congratulated her: it was a girl! Though he realized his error later, I often wonder about my mother’s thought processes when she learned that information, how she mentally prepared herself for a girl and how that changed when the doctor’s ‘diagnosis’ did. Every word a doctor utters is translated into a unique meaning by the patient, who is constantly seeking information. This piece is also about a referred memory: though I wasn’t conscious when it was created, the story informs my overall narrative. Who does this memory belong to?”

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