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OT
Maggie Westland
July 4, 2014
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Maggie Westland
I have a dance routine all in my hands, with steps
To take to make them bend again, at least to stall
The stalk of past abuse, of joint and sinew overuse
This jig more intricate, more complex, more diffuse
Than simple shuffles of the well-shod foot, requires
Both patience brute and gentle force to stake its worth
I dance five times each day twice daily bathe in wax
Or wrap socks full of rice from wrist to finger’s tip
Twist, push, press on in rhythmic jerks response
Joe the Handyman
Angela Yang
June 28, 2013
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Angela Yang
“Forty-two-year old male, chronic pain syndrome,” the chart reads.Â
I’m a third-year medical student doing an elective at a physical medicine and rehabilitation clinic, and this is my first time seeing Joe.Â
Sitting expectantly in the exam-room chair, he’s a gaunt man with a long face and dark tattoos down his arms. Wire-rimmed glasses, stringy ponytail, faded jeans and leather jacket complete the look.Â
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “I’m Angela, a medical student. I’m doing a couple of weeks here with Dr. Ross, the chief physician.”
“Thank you, doc. I’m Joe.” He smiles, dark eyes twinkling, and I glimpse yellow-stained teeth.Â
Probably from smoking, I think.Â
Joe starts talking, jiggling his leg nervously.
Illness 101
Madeline Sterling
June 7, 2013
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Madeline R. Sterling
My time as a medical student is quickly coming to an end. Later this month, along with hundreds of my fellow seniors across the country, I will receive a medical degree.
This past winter, with nearly four years of arduous study, countless examinations and numerous clinical rotations under my belt, I couldn’t help but think, Yes, I’m ready to be a doctor.
And then I became a patient.
Pained
Remya Tharackal Ravindran
November 18, 2011
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Remya Tharackal Ravindran
The light from my pen torch strikes the steel-blue eyes of the patient lying before me. Her pupils stand wide open and still.
My pager’s shrilling pierces the quiet. Fumbling with the buttons, I read the message: “Call 7546 STAT.”
It’s my first rotation on the floor as a new internal medicine resident. I dial the number, various possible disasters bubbling through my head.
“The patient in 723, Mr. Martini, is complaining of severe abdominal pain,” says a nurse’s voice. “The day-shift resident ordered one milligram of morphine, but he refused it. I want you to come and evaluate him right away.”
“Can you give me