A new month begins,
pandemia continues,
I long for an end.

Writer’s block struggles,
so I puzzle with haikus
for poetry month.

What has been unmasked?
Each day brings new surprises
and unwelcome truths.

Disobedient
dreams haunt my subconscious. I
can’t escape COVID.

A month of haikus,
finger counting syllables,
what will mark days now?

Trisha K. Paul
Resident

Cough, sneeze, sniffle. Everyone is suspicious. At the grocery store, the bank, the gym. COVID-19 is everywhere. Invisible but ever-present. Waiting to capitalize on the next victim. Respiratory droplets, aerosolized, on fomites. There’s no escape from this war. Masks, social distancing, hand washing – our only hopes. We are in this together. We must come together.

Logan Garfield
Student

I told them my name and preferred pronouns, they responded in kind.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
They said they volunteered teaching medical students about pronouns
And smiled saying, “I’m glad to see it’s working.”

“They are coming in to follow up on their chronic headaches.” I presented to my attending.
“What do you mean they?”

Jason Spicher
Medical Student

It has been opined (by Doctors Osler, Lipkin, Charon, Ofri, and even Dr. Oz) that the “laying on of hands” by the physician during a therapeutic encounter with a patient is critical for establishing rapport and promoting healing; the so-called Loving Touch.

I am fearful that my elbow bumps are not up to the task.

Jeffrey G. Wong, MD
Faculty Member

Do you have a fever?
No
Do you have any shortness of breath or trouble breathing?
No
Do you have any changes in your taste or smell?
No
Do you have any symptoms you want to talk about?
No
Do you have any questions for me?
My test came back positive, should I be worried?

Jiajun Li
Student

We all wear masks in this office.

Some are made from cloth, others woven from experience.

The patient’s experiences of discrimination, desperation and dismissal
casting his face in fear.

The physician’s experiences of listening, ignoring, and rejecting
hardening her face in false empathy.

My experience as powerless witness
painting my face in a silent scream.

Rebecca Allen
Medical Student

Stone-faced and somber, the new patient sat behind the partition with an untrusting glare. “Are you scared I’m gonna choke you?” “No sir, just trying to keep us both safe from the virus”. “Oh, that hoax everyone keeps talking about”? One side of his mouth curls upwards in amusement. Just another day in forensic psychiatry.

Scott Leary, MS4
Medical Student

An unexpected gift, inadvertent sounds from unmuted classmates—
rhythms like palpitations as a car drives past his window,
a quiet voice asks what time she’d like dinner,
the stuttering of a chair pulled closer to the table,
fluttering of flipped pages, skittering steps of pets;
the small intimacies of our
virtuality

Elizabeth Jakubowski
Medical Student

We’re a month in, but I still don’t really know any of you.
“These people will become your family,” I’m told over and over. To be fair, I haven’t gotten to see my actual family outside of video chats, either, so maybe it’s still true.
The top one-third of your faces seem very kind, though.

Hannah R. Dischinger
Resident

Distance from each other…
But are we distant from the invisible virus?
Fighting a battle with an enemy with a new guise.
Will medical knowledge and technology change the course THIS time?
In the end, will this new enemy change the way of being…
Or maybe through these perils, we will understand our own essence.

Nivedita Thakur, MD
Faculty Member

It’s Monday morning and I must attend another Zoom conference of multiple heads on a monitor. Some participants don’t use video. Disrespectful? Bad WiFi? Not Dressed? Eating breakfast? Opportunity for multitasking? What’s the best way to engage remotely? On-line polling or breakout rooms? I feel desperate for a real connection, I need a hug.

Kathleen Nelson
Administrator

My patient who can’t speak can’t have her husband visit.
Her kidney is failing.
She started to cry.
I couldn’t give her a hug.
Between glasses, masks, a shield, I’m part of a faceless team.
A tissue passed between gloved hands serves as empathy.
Who gets used to this?
I don’t know that I can.

Jennifer Ferrante
Medical Student

Hello.

Hello, it’s strange. Visits over the phone.

How are you?

Ok. We haven’t talked since it started.

The children?

Trying their best.

I understand. Must be difficult. A lot of changes.

Yes. Too many changes. And you?

Safe. I hope you are as well. That’s why I’m calling. And my breathing is getting better.

Ann Lee
Faculty Member

Words escape in muffled
unintelligible sounds
with breath that’s
puffed and pushed
to pluck some meaning
from the noise.
Then sucking hard
to find the oxygen
inside the small blue crown
that sits upon my lips
and stains my cheeks
with pain in service
to my lungs
to stop the silent plague
from getting in.

Elizabeth Mitchell
Faculty Member

I’m sorry
You can’t be by your loved one’s side
You can’t be here
The virus looms here
You can’t give one last touch
You can’t give one last kiss
You will have to just watch
As breath slows, the heart slows
Then stops
You can’t be here
The Virus looms here.

Stephen Paul Wood
Administrator

Alone. Days, weeks, months. Intimate familiarity with architecture. Waking up to a repeat sing song, “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared.”
Is that bird chirping my anxieties?
A world-wide panic attack. We are all alone together. Memories lay down on new moments and time becomes a thing to ponder. Weeks, months, years. Alone?

Chase Crossno
Faculty Member

Poke a hole in the sky, now
On air in mid-air,
Words warped by the warp.
Vexing window,
I should be grateful
For such sci-fi conjury.
Do what I can with invisible hands.
In a viral environ,
Reins far-flung up close.
On a phlegmatic circuit,
We look through the tunnel,
The simulacrum of healing.

Michael Stephen Miller, MD
Faculty Member

“Tell me about your pain?”
The tears fell.
I expected the story of the left lower quadrant pain, which had brought her in.
“My mother, she broke her hip and she’s all alone.”
For a moment, I thought of my list of post-ops, the night already gone.
I pulled up a chair, “Tell me more.”

Chidinma S. Tiko-Okoye
Resident

The fall and rise, breathing holds no lies
I see you suffer, you think you are tougher
This disease is new to us, you have lost your trust
I want you to believe in our guidance and care, can we meet there?
If you refuse, you perish, your loved ones you will fail to cherish.

Anitha Chandran
Resident

Back at the hospital, finally. It has been months. Everything is different. I no longer see mouths or facial expressions due to masks- only eyes. I struggle to connect with my patients and colleagues. No encouraging smiles. No handshakes. No intimate gestures of comfort. I feel inept when stripped of using body language in medicine.

Rachel Fields
Medical Student

My smile wanders, searching for a way
past my polypropylene mask to you
from my eyes to your eyes through a plane of plastic
from my hand to your hand through a layer of latex
buzzing by my vocal cords to reach your empty ears
in small words floating through the filtered air between us.

Vishesh Jain
Resident

I tell her she has a rare cancer. My voice is shaky. She laughs. She says, “Why me? Why not me?” We laugh together.
She doesn’t cry. I would have cried with her if she did. I couldn’t have handed her a tissue if she did. it’s a video visit.
I can’t hold her hands.


Zehra Tosur
Faculty Member

Ever since COVID, my patients have been scared and alone. No measure of facetime will suffice in exchange for physical presence of family and friends at bedside. That’s why it’s ever more important these days for us doctors to offer a kind word of encouragement and a hand to hold.

Julian Swanson
Faculty Member