Keeping the Flame Alive
This month, at medical schools across the country, first-year students will officially don the physician’s traditional white coat for the first time.
This month, at medical schools across the country, first-year students will officially don the physician’s traditional white coat for the first time.
Sandra Relyea ~
I sit in the cab of an old pickup truck on my father’s farm, listening to the water gurgling through irrigation tubes alongside a field. The truck is parked next to a barbed-wire fence. I’m waiting for the water to reach the far side of the field so I can pull the tubes and reset them in the next field.
As I wait, I watch the setting sun turn the Sangre De Cristo Mountains red and orange. Crickets chirp in the tall grass; frogs start their evening chorus. Smells of alfalfa and milkweed blossoms scent the air. Peace settles over me as the light fades.
To my left, I notice a little spider spinning an orb web between the
Rosalind Kaplan
I think a lot about quitting medicine lately. A lot.
Then I have a morning like yesterday morning:
I see a patient I’ve known for more than twenty years, caring for him through an adrenal tumor, a major gastrointestinal surgery and now renal failure, for which he needs a kidney transplant. As we review his last set of labs (stable, thank goodness), he is sanguine, hopeful. He may have found a donor, and he might make it to transplant without dialysis. He has to live–he has a wife and a child.
Next, I mess up my schedule entirely by spending more than half an hour with a patient who only came in to talk–not about herself, really, but about her
Christine Henneberg
It’s easy to get lost in the hospital. I’m only an intern, and already I know it like the hallways of my old high school, every doorway and doorknob. But overnight, as I float between the floors and the units, answering pages, I quickly lose track of where I am, what time it is, what day it is.
I am vaguely aware that I’m on the fifth floor, the top floor of the hospital, when the nurse approaches me.
“Doctor, the patient in Bed 32.”
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