to watch his memory falter,
fail. Light fades and falls. Dark
to watch his memory falter –
Cans of beans: gone. Toothpaste.
A shoe, bills, a sister –
to watch his memory falter,
fail. Light fades, and falls dark.
A Cascading, it is Read More »
Editor’s Note: This piece was awarded an honorable mention in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”
On a crisp Saturday morning in October, I drove through the early morning fog to the salon for my regular hair-coloring appointment.
I looked forward to these appointments. The hour spent there was my “me” time, during which I enjoyed lighthearted conversations with my colorist, Tina, about movies or fashion while she did my hair. These chats, which took me to a different world—the world of normal people—were followed by a cup of rejuvenating herbal tea. After a hard week as an oncologist in a busy clinic, it was a welcome relief.
This time was different, however.
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.
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.
As a third-year medical student, I was two weeks into my trauma-surgery rotation when my resident casually called me “disposable.” I wasn’t offended—in fact, the word perfectly described how I’d been feeling. I also understood that it was no reflection on my performance; rather, it was a commentary on medical students in general.
Surgery was the first rotation of my third year—and, now that the COVID pandemic was winding down, it was also my first in-person clinical rotation.
I’d never been on the floors of the hospital. I felt clueless, underprepared and incompetent.
Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”
“Our next one is a new patient who’s here to establish care,” said my family-medicine preceptor, perusing the patient’s chart.
Great, I thought. Seems like this visit will be pretty simple.
My preceptor entered the exam room, and I nonchalantly followed. Then I locked eyes with the patient—a short, middle-aged woman with bronzed skin and a teal-colored headwrap: a hijab.
Too Everything to Fit In Read More »
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?
Prejudice or Coincidence? Read More »
Editor’s Note: Today we carry a submission received from an Israeli child-and-adolescent psychiatrist who works at Soroka Medical Center, about twenty-five miles from the Gaza Strip. In this account (translated by colleague Jennie Goldstein), Hadar Sadeh describes her experiences dealing with victims of violent trauma on October 7. As events have unfolded, we at Pulse are acutely aware that many stories on both sides of this conflict need to be told.
Scenes From an Emergency Room–October 7, 2023 Read More »
Sometimes I wish that skin and bones didn’t exist. Of course, that would be impossible—the skeleton is the scaffold for our bodies, while the skin is the insulation for vital organs such as the heart, kidneys and bowels. Without our skin and bones, we’d be mere piles of goo on the floor.
Bones are too complicated, for the simple reason that there are too many. As a first-year medical student studying anatomy, I agonized over learning the grooves and prominences where the muscles originate and insert into the bones. I always struggled to find these so-called bony landmarks on our simulated patients.
And flesh…the skin is even more horrifying than the bones beneath it.
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