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Turning the Tables

T.J. Spackman March 28, 2025 11 Comments

My iPhone screams me awake, as it does every morning. Recently this incessant screeching has become less irritating, as I’ve grown more accustomed to the demands that clinical education makes on a third-year medical student. I begin my routine: shower, scrubs, microwaved breakfast sandwich, then out into the dark morning, actually looking forward to my day.

I’ve been on a roll in my new family-medicine rotation, enjoying my time with my supervising doctor and learning quickly under her tutelage. It feels as if it’s coming together—the pages upon pages of textbooks and notes replaced by real patients and newfound responsibilities.

What If…?

Medha Palnati February 28, 2025 5 Comments

During my first two years of medical school, the service-learning program I most enjoyed was Sickle Cell Superheroes. This program matches medical students with teenagers (or “kiddos,” as I like to call them) who are transitioning from pediatric to adult hematology for management of their sickle-cell disease.

My kiddo was Harry, and I absolutely adored him.

The Distance Between

Valerie Ohanu January 28, 2025 4 Comments

I was in secondary school in Nigeria when I first noticed the lesion on Uncle Eze’s lip. Like many men of his age in Lagos, he’d picked up smoking in the 1980s, when foreign cigarette companies flooded our markets with glossy advertisements and promises of sophistication. The habit stuck, even as the glamour faded. The streets of Lagos were dotted with tobacco vendors then, selling single sticks to businessmen who’d made cigarettes part of their daily routine.

“It’s nothing,” he said, when I pointed to the growing sore. In those days, seeing a dermatologist meant traveling to one of the few teaching hospitals in the country. Uncle Eze, my mother’s eldest brother and the owner of a thriving electronics shop, had his business to run,

“Teach to Fish for Tomorrow”

Ogochukwu Ufio January 14, 2025 7 Comments

It’s a typical Friday night in New Orleans. The streets are brimming with people from all over the world looking for a night of fun in the Big Easy.

I check the time: 5:45 pm. It’s a little more than a mile from my apartment to Ozanam Inn, a shelter for the unhoused where I work as the coordinator for the student-run Tulane Tuberculosis Screening Clinic Program. My shift tonight runs from 6:00-8:00 pm.

Overcoming a Stammer

Orlando M. Martinez November 12, 2024 6 Comments

Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”

Teary-eyed and a bit shaken, I hovered outside the room of our next patient, Ms. Robinson. She needed a lumbar puncture, and I was there as a medical student on rotation to observe the inpatient neurology team carry out the procedure.

Moments earlier, out here in the hallway, I’d sputtered through a case presentation to the open displeasure of my attending physician. I hadn’t been sure how my lifelong stammer would influence my experience on the wards; now I found out.

Unasked, Unanswered

Reni Forer October 29, 2024 4 Comments

“Hi! I’m Reni, the medical student here today,” I say to the cargo pant-clad teenager sitting hunched on the exam table. “My pronouns are she/her. What are your name and pronouns?”

My smooth delivery is only somewhat ruined by my almost falling off the stool as I try to sit down hands-free. I look up once I’m less precariously perched, awaiting a reply.

“Oh, I’m Sam,” they shrug. “And any are fine.”

My Blankie

Anna Cmolik October 22, 2024 7 Comments

One evening, at the age of four, I ran frantically into my bedroom, tears burning in my eyes, and started overturning the furniture, peering under my bed and scrabbling through piles of clothes. I bounded back downstairs into the kitchen to check the chair I’d sat in for dinner. Over and over, I asked my four siblings and my parents:

“Have you seen my blankie?”

Finally, I retraced my steps to the piano bench. There sat my blankie, a soft, bright yellow mound. I let out a sigh of relief, safe at last, and headed off to bed.

“Hey, Uce”

Andrew O. September 10, 2024 5 Comments

I’ll never forget my shadowing experience in the emergency department during my first year of medical school.

Scanning that morning’s list of patients, I saw a last name that made me do a double-take. A distinctly Samoan name: Mr. Fuaga.

My father’s side of the family came to the States from Samoa before I was born, and I grew up curious about Polynesian culture. My father always taught me to seek out fellow Pacific Islanders in whatever path I pursued, no matter how few of us there might be.

What’s Left Unsaid

Leighton Schreyer July 23, 2024 9 Comments

Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”

Standing with the rest of the medical team outside the hospital room of our first patient of the day, the attending physician nods impatiently at the resident to get started with morning rounds.

“Right, uh,” she fumbles, before finding her footing. “Philippe Dubois. Twelve-year-old boy with Duchenne muscular dystrophy. Here from Québec with his father for annual follow-up. No change in medications….”

As a first-year medical student, I’ve already watched enough medical dramas to know that this is how reports are given—in cold, clipped sentences that reduce people to patients, patients to diseases, diseases to signs and symptoms and stereotypes. Rich life stories lost in translation.

One Person at a Time

Fiona Miller July 9, 2024 2 Comments

Editor’s Note: This piece was awarded an honorable mention in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”

By medical-student standards, I’m old.

While it’s increasingly common for applicants to take one, two or even three gap years between college and medical school (usually to do research or engage in an activity to be featured in their application), taking ten years off, as I did, is unusual. I fondly refer to this hiatus as my “gap decade.”

A Daughter of Vietnamese Refugees

Clara D.T. Nguyen May 7, 2024 4 Comments

Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”

I am a daughter of Vietnamese refugees.

I wear my identity so proudly that I often reflexively lead with this when, as a medical student, I’m introduced to colleagues, professors and supervisors. It is my response when asked, “How will you contribute to diversity?”

Hot Water Cures (Almost) Everything

Victoria Qian April 30, 2024 5 Comments

Editor’s Note: This piece was a finalist in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”

If, like my parents, you had immigrated across the world to America with only $200 to your name, feeling hesitant to speak whenever you needed something for fear of people doubting your intellect, you might develop a certain degree of wary self-reliance.

My parents have had to fight for everything they’ve achieved here, including voices that would be heeded despite their accents, and equal treatment despite looking different.

fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

Tag: medical student stories

Turning the Tables

What If…?

The Distance Between

“Teach to Fish for Tomorrow”

Overcoming a Stammer

Unasked, Unanswered

My Blankie

“Hey, Uce”

What’s Left Unsaid

One Person at a Time

A Daughter of Vietnamese Refugees

Hot Water Cures (Almost) Everything

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fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

fostering the humanistic practice of medicine publishing personal accounts of illness and healing encouraging health care advocacy

Tag: medical student stories

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