“What part of what I just said did you not understand?” The fellow patronizingly chastised me in front of the entire medical team. Her tone and body language felt demeaning, almost as if she was more intent on embarrassing me than caring for the patient.
The waves beat; / a cold, relentless torrent. / You stand against them / taking the impact
“Goddamn doctors,” says a voice down the hall, slightly muffled through the curtain of the exam room where I lay. “What now?” comes another voice and they both grow louder, batting back and forth gripes. “They make the worst damn patients, know exactly what’s wrong with them and exactly what to do and you’re not doing it quick enough.”
How do you enjoy that / Which will be gone — sooner than someday?
Come one, come all, to the emergency room / It’s one a.m., and the rashes are in bloom
Tommy became my patient about halfway through my PICU rotation. He arrived as a transfer from an outside hospital due to concern for liver failure, and on a morning when we already had four admissions, he became another checkbox on my to-do list.
I was one of only eight African-American students in my medical school class of 214, and now I am a part of the less than four percent of African-American physicians in this country. My personal and professional experiences have further invigorated my passionate interest in public health and to explore effective strategies to reduce health disparities for minority populations in the United States.
As we discharge another patient from the intensive care unit, we celebrate a job well done. “Can you believe how far she’s come in the past few weeks?” or “I didn’t think he would be able to go home so soon.” With the use of modern technological advancements, we are able to bypass the heart and lungs of patients, and push the limits of life to as early as 22 weeks gestation.