Finding My Frequency
Fellow physician Dr. Holly Ingram discusses her hearing loss and its effects on her medical training.
Fellow physician Dr. Holly Ingram discusses her hearing loss and its effects on her medical training.
I was up before dawn, dressed in the comfiest, most adult-looking outfit I owned: a blue-and-white floral blouse, flared maroon pants, and navy walking shoes. After enduring an intense 200-point exam, two grueling weeks of pre-residency (think of it like a two-week job-interview-slash-free-trial), and countless days of calming myself down, it’s time for the real ordeal: my first day of internal medicine residency training.
Third year feels different. Intern year taught me how to work. Every note, every consult, every long night sharpened the mechanics of patient care. You learn to move efficiently, anticipate needs, and steady your hands when everything feels new. It is a year of doing, of survival, of quiet endurance.
In the 3rd grade I made a declaration,
regarding my future occupation —
I would one day be a physician,
specifically, a pediatrician!
Intern year is demanding. It gets easier. You will grow. You will build confidence. And one day, you’ll look back and realize just how far you’ve come.
For the baby who’s been battered and bruised / and for the adolescent already multiple times abused.
‘Twas the day after Christmas and all was not well. In a string of unfortunate events that would make Lemony Snicket jealous, my father had come down with the flu, the presents were indefinitely delayed and I found myself — an internal medicine intern — losing the battle to maintain my consciousness in the team workroom. The holiday season, usually my favorite part of the year, was definitely on my naughty list. At least there …
Still lungs. / Silent heart. / Time of death: 2:40.
Since the COVID-19 pandemic and 2020 protests against systemic racism, efforts toward eradicating the effects of bias and discrimination in medicine has reentered the national consciousness. While this is a good start, it may be better to try to overhaul — or at least make deeper efforts to heal– medicine’s social environment to foster safety and reduce disparately harmful effects of chronic social stress. For this, we can look to the queer community.
Wrinkly face and wonky head; I support your wobbly neck. No matter the emotion, you respond with a cry.
My fire escape, green from decades of wear and tear, bears flecks of paint that barely cling after gusts of wind and sheets of snow and showers of rain. Of course, I’m not sitting on this fire escape, but perched inside my kitchen.
Very early in the morning on Wednesday, October 18, 2023, I stumbled into the emergency department with my hair in a tangled mess and accidentally still wearing my house shoes.