I am almost always numb. When I can feel the pain, though, it takes control over all five senses.
Mostly my hearing. All of the others—except, I suppose, touch—become nonexistent. My vision is reduced to flashes of light and dark, obscured and blurred through tears. There is no taste or smell. Continue reading “1077: Slowly, They Will Know the Truth”
Vinamratha Rao, Class of 2028
fresh red streaks in the snow-white bank
seeping through fabric stretched across her back,
scored for each round after round
in this mouth of hallways eating a tail of rooms.
Continue reading “Pinion”
QeeQee Gao, M3, Class of 2022
“Maurice Johnson is a forty-one-year-old male who presents to the clinic with a chief complaint of chronic left leg swelling. His leg swelling originally started two years ago….”
As the medical student’s voice droned on, all the attending could hear was her stomach rumbling from the missed breakfast that was overtaken by her toddler’s stubborn choice of apparel. She was in a purple phase and insisted on only wearing purple. But the prior day’s laundry load sat forgotten in the washer and had set off a morning of unnecessary tears and uneaten breakfast. Continue reading “Room for More”
Linzy Kirkpatrick, M2, Class of 2023
Genetic modification is the process of altering the DNA of an organism. A process, of selective cultivation for traits deemed to be beneficial, beautiful, robust. In the hands of harvesters, what was wild becomes commonplace; countercurrents of cuisine built upon sturdier eats and thicker meats and drought-resistant grains, passed down to become culture. Somewhere along the way, an errant hand plucked up a root —forsooth! his plan turned humble purple or white to yellow, then orange. Continue reading “A Brief Hx of Daucus Carota, As Read to the Admissions Committee”
Stefano Byer, M3, Class of 2022
Now, halfway through the crux of medical school that is third year, I often sympathize with Sisyphus. I begin each week with new people, new patients, new criticisms, new stresses, new stories, new lessons, and once I’ve finally adapted…the next week beings—the stone rolls down the hill: I begin anew, and I love it (unlike Sisyphus). Continue reading “Seemingly Sisyphean”