The Room in the Corner
Still lungs. / Silent heart. / Time of death: 2:40.
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.
It is very difficult to believe that I am already more than halfway done with residency at this point, and that it is time to figure out what I want to do after these three years are up. Once again, what’s surprising and different to me is the structure for training in the United States: having to apply at the end of year 2 for a fellowship that will start after year 3, seems so early, but I am learning to accept that these are the American ways.
The second week of September was the epitome of emotional whiplash. Monday the 12th, we celebrated our one-year engagement anniversary in the ICU. We had gotten engaged in an apple orchard, so I brought in apple cider and cider donuts. She still wanted to keep fighting and didn’t want her doctors to give up on her. She was on four mcg/min of norepinephrine to keep her blood pressure up.
I had just started my residency in Burlington, Vermont when she started having symptoms again. She was to receive her treatment in Rochester, New York, which meant we were apart most of the year. I had been planning to propose in October, but now all plans were out the window. Despite the fear that swelled inside, I made sure to propose before she started chemo, to show that I would be with her no matter what.
Residency is hard. Anyone who has gone through it can attest to that. While I was getting intimately acquainted with this reality in August, 1.5 months into the first year of my internal medicine residency, my soon-to-be fiancé was diagnosed with cancer.
I did not learn in nursing school what and who is a resident physician. It was briefly mentioned that the attending was in charge with residents below them, and that was the beginning and the end of the discussion on residents. But at the end of my first year as a new nurse on a medical floor, I could recite the names of the internal medicine doctors I spent my days and nights mostly working with — residents. By the time I left that job, I knew just a few of the attendings’ full names.
Hello, come in, / and welcome to peds clinic! / My attention is on you / for the next 20 minutes.
Exploring ways to teach nonverbal communication in medical training can prove to be beneficial to physicians in the ICU. One way to teach non-verbal, body-based communication is through the language of the body itself — dance.