“And your socks, too,” I said / She stooped to reach her feet / And the liner of the exam table crinkled and popped
Once upon a time, in distant land, / we’d write down patient information with a pen in our hand.
The waves beat; / a cold, relentless torrent. / You stand against them / taking the impact
Humor… / it’s what saves me / keeps me from dying inside
Lunch hour on a Thursday
in the skies above
Medical alert, paged — STAT to Bed 3 / The nurse comes a runnin’ — we need an MD!
A haiku about screening for colon cancer.
When do-sed dram or weigh-ted dusts / no remedy impart
How do you enjoy that / Which will be gone — sooner than someday?
“Compassion” / A pale moon hangs above / The workroom clock reads six, but / Is it day or night?
His mother asks whether or not there will be a scar. I tell her yes. We’ll do our best to make it small, but there will be a scar.
Easter Sunday, intern year / MICU long-call consult resident / 41-year-old female