Are You OK?

Minneapolis is eighty miles away, so these events literally hit close to home. As a black man, it can be uncommon for others to be concerned about my safety. Many of my colleagues asked how they can show solidarity. I am grateful for these bright lights during this dark moment in our country’s history. Suliman EL-Amin (Fellow)

The Cry of My Heart

Can you tell me how to grieve in a pandemic? Everyone is different; do self-care, they say. But what if self-care is being with those I love? Whom I dearly loved I have lost. How could I risk bringing the virus to others beloved? I am grieving but cannot grieve. Because I love you. Tiffany M. Shin, MD (Faculty Member)

A Sad Eyed Woman

A sad eyed woman speaks to an procession of hearers, who think their boredom is hidden by masks and goggles. Halting conversation is passed through a phone while minds wander. A plan is made, and the dreaded final question asked. Is there anything else we can do for you today? “No, I’m fine.” She wasn’t. Kylan Larsen, MS (Student)

Dementia

MY BRILLIANT, BEAUTIFUL, WIFE IS DISAPPEARING STRICKEN FRONTOTEMPORAL DEMENTIA NOW I AM ALONE, CAN I HELP OTHERS AND COMFORT? HOW CAN I CARE WHEN I AM ALONE? I NEED TO BE LOVED AS I WALK THE LONELY PATH TO MY DEATH HOPE GROWS I WILL FIND LOVE AGAIN ENERGY WILL RETURN I WILL HEAL OTHERS. Gerald Lazarus, MD (Faculty Member)

Partial Craniectomy

Two weeks into the quarantine, and the teenager’s recovering from a bout of bacterial meningitis he contracted before everything happened. He’s finally doing better. “This feels normal now,” the mother says, gesturing to the slender tubing snaking from his cranium. “I wish the rest of the world felt the same way.” Gregory Plemmons (Faculty Member)

I See You

I see you Trying your best to smile, hoping the news’ not too bad. I see you Holding the phone so tight your knuckles blanch, anxiously waiting for me to get to the point. I see you Hear the test results, gasping in disappointment, then the sobbing. Quiet. I see you Because I’m human too. Evelyn Ilori, PhD (Student)

“Have You Been Here Before?”

I ask the grey-hared white woman as she enters the clinic next to Dave’s Mercado “No, I live across town,” she mumbles through her mask She fumbles to roll up the sleeve of her beautiful red sweater “I’m a little nervous” Me too I think to myself before I jab her arm Nikki E. Rossetti, MS (Student)

Luis

385,000+ dead. Suffocating grief. A lifetime in color now gray memories wondering when last they talked. Could he sense when her breathing stopped? For what are wildflowers without bees? What brings light to leafless trees? There is no Luis without June. And she is gone. So he left too. Forevermore. A numbing statistic. 385,000+ dead. Lauren Moore (Student)

The Things I’ve Learned

I’ve learned to smile with my eyes So they can see that I have a soul. I’ve learned that a moment of silence, A reflection of the things that we hold dear, Will allow us to proceed with purpose. I’ve learned we’re more alike than we’d like to think. We all want to be loved. Miki Calderon (Student)

A Blessing in Disguise

To pursue my dreams While evolving from old wounds To pursue my dreams While evolving from old wounds Stoics had known best Master loneliness they said The grace of being Forced to confront inner worlds For those in training Must learn to heal themselves too. Christina LaGamma (Student)

Sharing

I catch her eye when she falters, brow furrowed beneath breath-blurred plastic goggles a pause at the sudden tears – and then she wraps his inconsolable in white coat arms, navy spots blossoming on sky blue fabric – a reminder that pain can melt us together just as much as it pushes us apart. Haorui Sun, BS (Student)

June

315,000+ dead. You yearn to escape unscathed as daylight erodes the bleakest night. Vaccines on the horizon met with a foreign feeling- Hope. But it is too late. She is gone. Empty promises of protection proved fallible because even wildflowers wilt in the sun. She died alone. A numbing statistic. 315,000+ dead. Lauren Moore (Student)

Invisible Enemy

From the shadows of healthcare, we rise. Now on the front stage. Science and planning on a moment’s notice have collided… With a hidden enemy at our door, lives are lost in a battle of time. Steadfast and determined, we will not fail. Jason Stalling, MBA (Administrator)

Duty

I read about it Not sure if it can affect us Few days go by People now ask me I am supposed to know What it is How to prevent How to treat To be a frontliner Stop Take a breath It’s ok to be scared But then, I have to move on and help. Niyati Grewal, MBBS (Student)

Who remembers to call the family?

Four hours after the surgery should have ended, my mother paced anxiously. “Should I call?” Not allowed in the hospital, we received no updates during the procedure. “They’ll call if something is wrong.” “I don’t want to annoy the doctors.” Grandma was already in recovery, it turned out. No one had bothered to tell us. Allison Neeson, BS (Student)

Pandemic Yell

I’ve developed a new appreciation for my own voice – a scream so forceful it took me by surprise. I called it my “pandemic yell”. I recorded it and listened to it over and over again. It was exhilarating to hear and feel the rage inside burst its way out finally. I made it my ringtone. Mimi Lam, DVM, CCFP, Dip.Path (Faculty Member)

For Months

Four Months Watching charts, statistics, news commentators Wondering where my place was in this strange new world of Staying home, begging relatives to My first day back in the hospital Realizing the cost In fear, in loneliness, in too-early goodbyes But I know With hope and courage We are finding brightness And brighter days ahead. Emily Marra, BA (Student)

A Month of Haikus

A new month begins, pandemia continues, I long for an end. Writer’s block struggles, so I puzzle with haikus for poetry month. 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)

ICU Redux

She looks the same, despite many years. Still young and still tired as she was in 2005, when I met her and her son. His story a tapestry weaving through so many ICU rooms since that day. Recognition hits us. She points out his “first” room. A sudden hug, ignoring masks. I don’t pull away. Wynne Morrison, MD, MBE (Faculty Member)

Like Faded Denim

Before she coded, I had told her she’d be okay. I can’t breathe, she said between heaves as the mask pushed the air in and pulled life out. I patted her shoulder, held her hand through her gasps. When the team started compressions her head tilted towards me, eyes wide in shock. They were blue. Andrew J Park, MD (Resident)

Family Time

School is now virtual, her kids are always home Jobs are now uncertain, her livelihood a slippery prize They say quarantine, they say family time Her black eye and bruises, “just new make-up tricks mummy is trying out” She holds them tight, her tiny little kids Too young to already know the sounds of abuse Jane-Frances Aruma (Student)

Thank You Corona!

You helped me realize life isn’t all about living nor death about dying. Every death is but a reminder of what I yet need to let die within me. And I die a little when someone else dies too to in let the new life while still alive. Your tough love made me more humane! Sailaja Devaguptapu (Senior Research Officer)

My Pandemic Baby

She didnt know she was being, born in a pandemic, a world where there would be no faces. Where smiles wont prevail. Where handshakes will be scary, and hugs would be scarce. She only knew the warmth of the womb and, now here she was in this cold dark world. This cold dark world. Saba Fatima, MD (Faculty Member)

An Infectious War

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)

Isolation

Isolated in my room, I cannot leave Food and drink are brought to me My breath is infectious, I must wear a mask It’s getting lonely in here My dog cries outside my door I feel sick, but the sadness of this isolation drowns that Three more days, one negative result Freedom is so near Amanda Rodriguez (Student)

Routine Morning

At home, like always, hunched over my computer clicking through UWorld questions. Our dog curls around my feet to beg for attention and food. Voices drift over from my mom’s phone—another day, another Zoom funeral. Which one?, I think, as I sweep my faceshield and mask into my bag for another clinic halfday. Chioma Ndukwe, MS3 (Student)

tik tok

Tik. Tok. Each with a family. A parent. A child. A grandparent. Tik. tok. An aunt or uncle. A spouse. A sibling. Tik. tok. A friend. tik. tok. Every minute, someone dies. Not just a number, but a person. Tik. tok. Each with their own story. A story cut short. Kaila Pomeranz, DO (Attending)

My first stroke patient

“COVID-19, alone, intubated. Young Black Female, BLM protests outside. Significant anemia. Blood ordered post-procedure. I check on her. Sedation wearing off. I explain. She panics. “I never want blood!” she writes. “Why?” “Religious—Spiritual” I panic. RN, PRBC bag in hand. “No blood,” I say. I alert MD. On rounds— “Thank you, Dara,” she writes.” Dara S. Farhadi, BS, MS (Student)

Patients of Color #1

Brown like me Amir and Sarah bounced off the walls of the clinic. I smiled and showed them my stethoscope. Their dad just lost his job and with that went his health insurance. He was grateful for this free clinic. I was grateful he trusted me. They looked just like me and my brother when we were kids. Roshan Bransden, MS4 (Student)

Patients of Color #2

“Bad black mother” She’s back again. It’s her seventh child. She’s positive for amphetamines, again. HIV positive, no prenatal care, no insurance. It’s 2 a.m. The baby is 3 months early. It’s born — transferred to the NICU. Mom is discharged. “We’ll see her again,” my attending shrugs and turns to his computer. We all failed her. Roshan Bransden, MS4 (Student)

Despair

Fever, chest pain, shortness of breath. Death Shackles, choking, gasping. Death Centuries of invisible, invincible oppression A tale of contagion and two viruses For one- tests, treatments, vaccines, fueled by money For the other- words and more words, running on empty Change is coming. Change is coming. Change is coming today No change is coming Nasia Safdar, MD, PhD (Faculty Member)

Not what we know, new hope

Focused in ED code stroke. Student standing nearby. Though busy and stressed, I called her over for short teaching. Both very appreciative. Students now not allowed. Not ignoring small opportunities with learners, family, friends that bring joy and purpose. May lose sight of true priorities while busy but don’t know when won’t have them anymore. Kristie Chu (Fellow)

Travel Ban

“Mom, this is not your regular 77th birthday message. My upbringing, instilled with your trust, faith, and values; I treasure. We clash, but our relationship is strong and lasting; ‘vergeef me’, when I hurt you. I need you to know how much I love you in case something happens, and I can’t come home.” J.M. Monica van de Ridder (Faculty Member)

White Enough

“Well, we’re just glad we switched to you as her PCP… Mom’s last doc was too Middle Eastern.” Wordlessly, I gesture to my name badge: five Arabic syllables next to my white-passing face. He shifts uncomfortably before leaning forward, determined to make a smooth recovery: “No, I mean he was like… Middle Eastern Middle Eastern.” Samer Muallem (Faculty Member)

Danger in the Air

We assemble. Respiratory therapist, Me Nurse He booms, “1!” Hold on… “2!” I still need to… “3!” And with our might our patient’s face suddenly emerges. Tube disconnects Machine air abounds I hold my breath. In that moment we praise mask and shield. Before I can blink, our airy captain re-attaches the tube. I exhale. Chuma Obineme (Fellow)

The Reality of Stay at Home Orders

He’s ill, but cannot afford to miss work. He wants to quarantine for others’ safety but can’t survive without income. Your hands touch his. Now you’re contaminated. It was easier to pass judgement on his lack of isolation when the virus was abstract. But now, you too, are vulnerable to its hardships. Now you understand. Rachel Fields (Medical Student)

From Sketchy to Bedside

I had heard about coronavirus once prior to the COVID-19 pandemic. I was studying for Step 1 and was watching SketchyMicro. The “Kingdom of SARS” sketch opened with the narrator saying “Coronavirus, it’s not a super high yield virus”. If only the creators knew that this non-high yield virus would end up changing the world. Shilpa Ghatnekar (Medical Student)

Uncertainty

Who am I? Now and when I’m gone. How have I lived? How will I die? Questions burning in my mind Ask my mom to let me go. This is not who I’ve chosen to be But who I was born to be Who I’ve grown to be Who I may die to be. Amanda Pensiero (Faculty Member)

Phone Calls Make me Angry and Tired

An ex-wife hearing of imminent death. An interpreter conveys another failed spontaneous breathing trial. Again, a son and daughter ask why he cannot receive convalescent plasma. I lay awake hearing the words of a terrified husband- “you are my doctor, thank you”. I prepare for another day’s sorrow with an open heart and empty soul. Noah Rosenberg (Medical Student)

Essential

What keeps the essential workers essential? We the intra-helpers, the holders of space. Lovers of the unloved and unlovable. We the givers of dream transfusions. Volunteer souls. Hope transplants. Social workers donning the same scrubs, the same masks, the same gear. Turning to look into the faces of fear looking into the faces of fear. Steven T. Licardi, LMSW (Behavioral Health Clinician)

For The Kulture

2020 was supposed to be the year of manifestation. A pandemic shook the table and brought endless devastation. Tragedy took Kobe and Pop Smoke. COVID took my stepfather and the rest of my folk. As humans, we all matter. But all lives can’t matter until black lives matter. Tilicea Henry (Medical Student)

Ingenuity

He was tired and wanted to go home. This was his 14th hospitalization in 3 years. He wanted his wife, his bed and his food. We could always do more. He wanted less. The pandemic made everything uncertain. No one was wearing masks yet. But Mr C did. Cancer might get him, but coronavirus wouldn’t. R. Michelle Schmidt, MD, MPH (Faculty Member)

Secure unit dialectic

Looming over her, Yellow gown, masked, Breath misting plastic, I barely hear: “I can’t breathe”. Intergenerational despair. “Can I have my clothes?” Crumpled on the mattress, tugging the Baby doll around her, “It’s for safety”, says the white nurse. Stripped of identity Like her ancestors. Isolation again. She hugs herself; No budget for kind words. Lisa Burback (Academic Psychiatrist)

Steel to Skin

You were excited to see me. And I? Your knee. Propofol administered. You called me a king; pride for me was heavier than the shackles removed. I was envious. We did not differ too much. I have been on their treasure hunt for years. Hopefully, one day, I jump through enough hoops to find my keys. (Medical Student)

2020: A Visionless Summer

Summer solace in pandemic solitude. Are you okay? I just want you to know… I don’t understand… Teach me. I don’t want to be… BLM. Everyone is pr[a]ying. Different agenda, same power. I miss my underground freedom. This newfound love is suffocating me. Mask off. No more hiding… Yet, I still can’t breathe. Jason Mascoe (Medical Student)

Earth-Shattering Career Obstacles

We are sorry, you did not match to any position Tunnel vision, seasick, mute, colorless world. Pick up pieces, stand tall, and persevere. Covid-19 siphon energy, dissolve opportunity. Covid-19 deaths, screams, financial burden, social isolation. Covid-19 innovation, virtual togetherness, newfound unity. Develop dedication, enhance grit, broaden resourcefulness. I am strong. We are COVID strong. Joseph Toth (Medical Student)

July 14, 2020: International Non-Binary People’s Day

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)

The First Patient

Gasping, “Something’s wrong …. lungs” Southern visitor to ER up North. Has COVID-19 arrived here? Frightened, don PPE, too late. Lips quiver behind N95 masks. Family sent home to quarantine, intubated alone. Last words, “Thank you… for what you do….. I hope….. you will be OK” Great compassion. He fights but dies. It’s not OK. Alisa Hayes (Faculty Member)

Act Now

I Can’t Breath. Please Help. COVID-19 or police chokehold. Emergency Medicine doctors- we see it all. Rush to aid. Give oxygen, intubate, CT scan, medication? What can we do? Anything? Powerlessness. Coronavirus and systemic racism. We can witness, We can feel, We can give voice to our patients. Act with what energy and time remains. Alisa Hayes (Faculty Member)

Touching patients in the time of COVID-19

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)

The Wake Up Call

The asylum tree whence fell Viands make, the sentry’s woodpile sell The recrudescing baleful storms let rake Of the falsity refuge yet seeking, leccy make Unto the deific call, ever wake? The Self unto the self else forsake? The rolling fickle billow like, not rise and fall Heed thou ergo the prodding Parnassian wake-up call! Sailaja Devaguptapu (Senior Researcher)

“Rinse and Repeat”

Wake up, get up, login, treat Hear their stories Uncertainty, oppression, chaos, defeat Fearful eyes, painful voices Gulping reality one sip at a time like scalding coffee Listen, support, find common ground Fatigue rising, shields engaging, boundaries setting Wake up, get up, login, treat Israel M. Labao, MD, MPH (Resident)

Pandemic

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)

Masked

The world had changed The masks I only used to see in the hospital Are now commonplace in public Everyone thinks so much is hidden behind the mask But from experience, I know It’s not as different as it seems I can see still their smiles in their eyes Jiajun Li (Student)

Virtual Connections

Apart but still together These connections already exist We were just afraid to try something different until there is no alternative Some say there’s no replacement for the face-to-face Some say the connection is weak Not real, as its name would imply But it turns out Sometimes, an imitation a Virtual connection is good enough Jiajun Li (Student)

This is Recovery

“Most people recover” they say “This virus is no big deal.” I see recovered COVID patients everyday; heart failure, kidney failure, liver injury, pulmonary embolisms. Do people know? That this is recovery. I drive home past packed restaurants and bars. The hospital is full. So where will these people go when they are recovering? Amanda F. Tompkins (Medical Student)

The Masks We Wear

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)

The Song and The Breath

Breath bestows a voice to song, But song was in the air, Then captured by the wings That beat as long as they could bear. As beauty is carried in body, So song is carried in breath; In time, when breath has ceased then, know The song has already left. Alexander Thomas (Medical Student)

Happiness Reset 2020

Vacation “Home” for vacation, Working in, for, and from “home.” Cooking added dopamine in dishes, Cleaning is a new mindfulness. “Zoom” is a new craving, “Facetime” with family and friends is my free CBT, “Old Fashioned” “New Yorker” “Netflix” are chips of micro-happiness, Ongoing systole for hedonic treadmill is now replaced with COVIDiastole. “COVID” is a “Midas touch.” Vijay Rajput (Faculty Member)

day after day after day

Up before dawn Head strong The weight of a heavy coat Upon her shoulders The weight of daily suffering Entrenched in her heart Peeling away layers Exposes deeply etched scars Left behind by this life of service The head knows it’s true The heart pretends it will pass The scars tell a different story Kimberley Williamson (Registered Nurse)

Boston Hope Music

When the pandemic struck, we were stopped in our tracks. Is music still relevant? Are the arts still relevant? Then the melodies began flowing again. Music is never silenced. We played together again to bring wellness to Covid patients and to restore wellness in ourselves. A way of healing, giving back, restoring our disrupted world. Lisa Wong (Faculty Member)

Unsettled Entrance

March 2020 was a cold and uneasy time. We arrived to the hospital with no one in the hallways, only a screener to greet us on the frontlines. “Do you have any fever, cough, or shortness of breath?” No symptoms, sir. “Any contacts with someone with COVID19?” I don’t know, we do not have testing. Juliette Perzhinsky, MD, MSc (Faculty Member)

My Frontline

I don’t work in the ER. Nor in the ICU. The traditional “COVID frontline,” displayed on CNN, is not my daily experience. January was routine medication checks. March became crisis management, keeping stable depression and paranoia in a depressed and paranoid pandemic. I don’t work on traditional “frontlines,” but mental health frontlines hurt too. Marissa Flaherty, MD (Faculty Member)

What Am I Missing?

Why do your lungs still look like this? Why does your heart still race like this? What am I missing? Who are you behind these closed eyes? How do I prepare your family for the cries? What am I missing? I see you every day yet feel you drifting further away. What am I missing? Elena Zamora (Resident)

In The Shadow of the Pandemic

Diabetes, heart disease, hypertension, cancer. Think of disease, what comes to mind? In Pandemics, we are forced to ration access to care. With masks and protective equipment, we combat a virus. But has this increased vigilance, made us partially blind. A scourge still overlooked by society, Substance use disorder, so many still suffering and dying. Rebecca Hamburger (Student) Kultaj Kaleka, RN (Faculty Member) Juliette Perzhinsky, MD, MSc (Faculty Member)

The Veteran’s Wife

On worn waiting room chairs, I held her thin, papery hand- gold band secured between arthritic knots. “No, you can’t stay with him. No visitors.” Isolation, protocol, pandemic- excuses that could not excuse tearing apart the decades of tucked midnight embraces. Milky halos encompassing the blueness of her eyes. A blink, a departure, alone. Rebecca Tuttle, MD, MS (Faculty Member)

Presentation

I have no idea, It could be, It is most likely, Presentation is most consistent with. You could have, You might have, You are at risk for, You are diagnosed with. We suggest, We recommend, We will order, We prescribed. Anything else I can help you with, Do you have any questions… How are you? Hannah Mulvey Ferrera (Medical Student)

First day of school

The box arrives after dark. Parts eagerly scattered across the floor. Fat black cushions. Gyrating legs. So many classic plastic wheels. Calling it an office chair is unimaginative. A throne? Facetious. A saddle, perhaps? Screws twisted. Joints locked. A lovingly assembled new home. I climb in and spin around, ready for the long journey ahead. Benjamin French (Medical Student)

One in a Million

POSITIVE. A lightening bolt in my electronic health record. Covid – still early, we know so little. Masked, scrubbed, extra cautious. Quarantine. Temperature checks. Symptom monitoring. Worrying about exposed family. Daily Health Department check-ins The national numbers have reached one million. Days pass, my birthday in quarantine My daughter sends a cake. I celebrate being okay. Karen Szauter (Administrator)

A Brief Reminder

“I’m a fighter,” she says, blisters across expanses of skin, like the illness is trying to climb its way out. “Remember this: surround yourself with the right people. Because I didn’t.” Later, I stand on my balcony, alone. My hands are full, people I love available at the swipe of a finger. The world spins. Jennifer Li (Medical Student)

The Hoax

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)

When Bees Swarm

We can no longer stay here. It is not right. Being treated by a different standard for bringing my own PPE. But I want to protect myself, my patients, and my family. Am I really doing wrong by advocating during a pandemic? I want to fly with my swarm, but where are they? Juliette Perzhinsky, MD, MSc (Faculty Member)

Auscultation

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)

Back to work

“ You must be frontline” With guilt “ I am doing televisits for now” The hospital is eerie and quiet outside Once inside You forget Residents crowd together Affording comfort And normalcy You stand close to an upset father To explain and assuage On your way home You are haunted by his maskless face Madhura Pradhan, MD (Faculty Member)

Can You See It?

We give each other company, Fear and I Sometimes in the absence of others, Sometimes in a room so full, you cannot see your own feet Fear can take a lifetime to wrangle away But one moment, one instance Leaves us vulnerable to Fear’s claws Claws sunk so deep, you feel them with every breath. Nikitha Pothireddy (Medical Student)

Fever

She can’t stay seated, fake lashes concealing tears. Her husband is at home due to the pandemic restrictions. Oh, my baby, she screams, aerosolizing her grief into the room. The diagnosis slowly bruises her mind like leukemia into her son’s body. He’s our youngest. He still sleeps with us. She wishes he had COVID-19 instead. Benjamin Drum (Resident)

Flexed to Inpatient

I cut my nails to the quick that night. God forbid my body betray me or my family, virus somewhere I couldn’t scrub clean. The morning: first COVID patient, ICU transfer, her survival a blessing, her gratitude shattering. Remembering my oath, I leaned stethoscope close, listened, touched. Finally—home. Scalding shower. Called kids; dinner alone. Sarah L. Clever, MD, MS, FACP (Faculty Member)

Medical School in the COVID era

I wake up at 7:45. I shower while listening to two Teddy-Afro songs. I get dressed. I quickly type in the password to my computer and pull up my zoom. I yawn, sip my instant coffee, and glance over at the picture of me and my mom. I smile and turn on my camera. Maranatha Genet (Medical Student)

July Intern

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)

Class of 2021

I am ready. I have passed my exams and performed well in the core clerkships. I am motivated, young, healthy. Put me to work. I can help. But I am stuck at home. Useless. Quarantined with my knowledge and experience. Mere months from finishing my training. We are an untapped resource and we are ready. Rachel Fields (Medical Student)

Responsibilities

I have a child, husband, elderly parents, job. Work with colleagues, residents, students, and COVID. Busy days…lots of responsibilities. No more vacations, no more school. Now fear of infection is the reality. Now fear of infecting my family is the reality. Have to stay healthy, optimistic, strong. I am a mother, wife, daughter, and doctor. Doris Lin (Faculty Member)

COVID19 Musings as Haiku

1. Science non grata Lack of trust cuts deeper now How did we get here? 2. Not doing enough Colleagues suffer, I am spared Guilt laced tears fall down 3. Fear of the unknown Waiting, hoping all will clear Calm before the storm 4. Quiet clinic rooms Missing laughter, hugs, and smiles New normal too still Nicole Kucine (Faculty Member)

Manifested Worry

Her pupils widen at his radiant coat, And body winces at devices dangling about his throat. Showing demeanor of an impending escape or brawl, I’m sure her perspiration is mostly cortisol. As previous traumas amplify current fears, The only diagnostic tools he can rely upon are his ears. Rachel Roy (Medical Student)

Coronavirus through the eyes of a 7-year old

How hard it is to stay home. I think about how we are all participating and doing the right thing. I appreciate that lots of peoples lives will be saved in hospitals because of you. Don’t you ever wish that coronavirus wasn’t here and that there were no viruses in the world? Can you imagine that? Lauren Fine, MD (Faculty Member) in collaboration with Emma Fine

One Step at a Time in NYC

Unwound, we were and still are unraveling. In many ways, we feel paralyzed in March forever. There’s a fire burning in the distance. What has happened to my city? Try to stare at the screen. Distant sirens ring. Just try to focus. A three digit score can give you the world- what’s left of it. Zoha Huda (Medical Student)

Connection heals

These days you understand me more than before We long for the loved ones who we’re not able to see We worry for them We look tired in the mornings, wondering all night how next day will be But everyday your warm thoughts melt my plastic costume So happy to see each other again Dana Giza (Fellow)

ZoomMed: A Place to Meet New Friends?

Zoom. Botched audio, reactions delayed. The way “genuine” connections start these days. Pre-med, curly hair, Atlanta – the topics of discussion. 1.5 hours, I realized I’d found a good person. A person who’s genuine, kind, and shares quite a few interests of mine. A person whose friendship I could see standing the test of time. Sydni Williams (Medical Student)

Eyewitness to detonation

We were both wearing masks when I evaluated you—a 90-something year-old WWII veteran. You were only 20 serving in an airborne bombing squad. What was it like to be a witness to the first nuclear bomb to detonate in war? You heartrendingly shared that the fallout killed many and this COVID19 pandemic felt similar. Juliette Perzhinsky, MD, MSc, (Faculty Member) Rebecca Hamburger (Medical Student)

Sacrifices

I could list each sacrifice made studying medicine on my fingers. Late studying, lesser parties, fewer friends. Now, I watch professionals self-isolate in garages. Others explain quitting. A mentor describes sinophobic experiences. My mother recovers to alleviate her coworkers’ burden. Friends attend morning funerals online, studying at night. Sacrifice is too messy for one finger. Shubhi Singh (Medical Student)

Here – An Ode to Parenting the “OTHER”

We are the brea (d) th of Evolution, Creation and The Divine. Generations before us, molded this For-Ever-ness of Us. Thriving, excelling, and flourishing. We Breathe. Carving Tomorrows. Creating Flourish. For those who come after Us. “Here. We are still. Here.” Adwoa Osei, MD FAAP (Faculty Member)

The Time for Family

My daughter just turned one. She likes to play pull-the-mask-off-mommy’s-face. We stayed home from March to June, took clerkships online, sat for boards, got a puppy, read a lot of Winnie-the-Pooh and Goodnight Moon. I became essential. I got what I longed for – family, and a course in courage, reflection, and how-to-be-a-Mom. Laura Jorgenson (Medical Student)

Distance

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)

Out of One’s Mind

My grandfather calls my father for the third time. He does not remember the previous calls. He’s scared and doesn’t know why he is in the nursing home, even though this has been his home for the past year. He thinks the staff is keeping something from him. He thinks he may have the virus. Olivia A Murray (Medical Student)

ALL THE MEN

… who said she couldn’t: Survive medical school: “you’re not a good test-taker” Obtain a fellowship: “must have ‘connections’ ” Direct a program: “young, inexperienced” Run a board meeting: “you don’t know enough” …who cheered her on: Holding her son, husband’s hand on her back, her father’s words remembered: “You’re a strong woman”. Taraneh Soleymani, MD (Faculty Member)

Father and Daughter

It was 1987 It’s 2020 I was a medical student I’m a medical student I was in an epicenter I am in an epicenter HIV COVID-19 There was no cure There is no cute My people are dying My people are dying I am scared for my daughter. I am hopeful because of my father. Carrie Crook (Medical Student) in collaboration with Dr. Errol Crook

Working Remotely….Month 5

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)

The Beauty of a Shared Moment

“The treatment isn’t working anymore” I say. “That’s quite alright.” she says. “Would you like to see the chaplain?” “Later.” A tear runs down her cheek. “Can you pray with me?” I’ve never been religious, but I sit down, hold her hand, close my eyes and let the peace silence brings wash over us. Onyebuchi Okeke (Medical Student)

Tissue?

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)

The Advising Dean

I cannot wipe your tears on Zoom or place my hand on your shoulders as you tell me about the death. If I was in your presence, I would not be able to come by your side. I can only comfort you with my voice and teach you what I know about life and medicine. Gauri Agarwal (Administrator)

Med-student Do not Forget: The Strength of our Physician Formation

Butterfly= Physician Chrysalis= Formation It was dark inside, harsh noises outside. Strong winds—a hurricane— stealing my breath away, depriving the light of tomorrow. It is my time, time to get out. A droplet reflects my wings, Are they broken or are they stronger? I take a jump and soar high; I learn and fight. Vivian V. Altiery De Jesús, MBE (Medical Student)

Quiet

His wife takes notes with shaky hands.” Kidneys – stable; cancer – progressing.” “I don’t want you to be in intensive care unit again.” I don’t want it either. “Consider hospice?” Six months later, a letter: “We appreciated your patience, your counsel, your gentle manner, the e-messages after hours. “It is too quiet around here without Randy.” Gurwant Kaur (Faculty Member)

Swan

I think she’s Punjabi Rare around here Chatting after the appointment I’ve missed this connection She asks for my name again Last name, too? I give it Faced with her confusion, I repeat myself She doesn’t understand Realize I’m pronouncing it like I’m white, not Indian I correct, try to explain Have I forgotten myself? Anmol Hans (Medical Student)

Outreach to Whom

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

For Once

For Once, I take a Moment for our nature. To see stories unspoken Behind smiling eyes. To finally forget The lip’s wasted language and other luxuries. For once I find myself In meditation Observing human harmony Within the realm of discord. For once I take a moment for myself To take in the natural world. John Newman (Medical Student)

The N95

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)

Hero

Called a “Hero” While just doing my job… The career I chose, Before chaos stroke. If I had just been that hero, To make it all stop, Hopelessness wouldn’t have robbed, Who this pandemic longed for. I was no hero after all. I just fulfilled the vow I vowed: To help others… At what cost? Rosa Lizeth Frias (Medical Student)

Clinic is more confusing

Unmasked in my office behind a closed door, I still feel safe. Beyond, into the aerosol wedged between us doctoring has become risky. Physical examination is now dangerous. Your masked fears and mine behind a faceshield, attend carefully to your story. What is your illness? Is it the new one? Or one we knew before? Lara Ronan (Faculty Member)

Rise

She lies in bed, chest rising and falling, Her breath the sound of sweeping Through glass shards. On her window the patter Of rain overlies a scene of budding Leaves along the Huron. This is how they pass. In isolation. The white gown A forerunner to the shroud. The last breaths turbulent Before ascension. Natalie Ailene Moreno (Medical Student)

You Can’t Be Here

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)

First Step in a Pandemic

Familiar blue and white screen. Blocks and explanations that stopped connecting one pandemic ago. Inside is turmoil but outside is pure chaos. Do questions or ask questions of the world? Why weren’t we prepared, why are my people dying or, what causes clots to form? Will I get these answers now or after the MD? Azana Newman (Medical Student)

Birdsong

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)

Cry

Death, everywhere. In NY, my home, in the hospital, the world. I cry for the losses: weddings, birthdays, family, life. I cry for the people who choose to doubt instead of support. As if we chose this field not to help but to make political statements. I cry for patients: scared, confused, sick. I cry. Danielle Cirillo (Resident)

Chaos and Confusion in a Pandemic

How does it spread? How can I stay safe? Am I infected? Was I exposed? Will I recover? Stay 6 feet apart. Stay 3 feet apart. Those asymptomatic can’t spread the infection. On second thought, yes, they can. We wait, we experience, we try to learn, but yet, still none of us know the answers. Rachel Fields (Medical Student)

July Attending 2020

Now with mask and face shield but no patient interactions for five months, are these newly minted third year medical students ready for clerkships? Am I ready? Imprinting: watch me closely but not too closely. Grow and be yourselves. I pray, let the enthusiasm for the profession persist in these young minds and hearts. Rebecca R. Pauly, MD (Faculty Member)

COVID Storm

Prospects darkened pre-pandemic. Foggy thoughts clouded the brilliant mind. Weathered hurricanes that came with destructive fury but did depart. Exempted by age. Isolated for safety. Exhausted by the marathon. Surrounded with gale-force pressures. Tasks demanded. Teams prepared. Would a hug have squeezed out the insidious inside? Social distance maintained. Thunderous goodbye. Yet, unheard. COVID slain. Anonymous

COVID-Exacerbated Purposelessness

March 13: Another waitlist. March 15: Lockdown tomorrow. Grocery store trip. March 16: Unemployed. March 22: Offering to reschedule your wedding. May 6: Wedding… is… postponed. No acceptances… No job… June 2: Off the waitlist! June 5: Zoom courthouse wedding! June 6: Cross-country move! July 15: Welcome to MS1! Anonymous

Telehealth

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)

Student doctors and more

“Only” student doctors, always overseen. Gained confidence from clerkships, no longer green. But – “only” student doctors – and pulled from hospitals. Look back on your journey! We’re not so brittle. PPE donated, contacts traced, patients screened. Though not in the hospital, we have done this and more, After all, we are student doctors And more. David Gao (Medical Student)

It – Is – The Tenderness — In Tough Times

It is tender hearted – brigade of nurses From upstate – arriving downstate, Bearing their families’ state of mind: Go and serve, We bear your absence here – With your presence there. John F. DeCarlo (Faculty Member)

Where Do We Seek Refuge Now?

1998: Hiding in the attic. “Shhhh,” Baba whispered. “No refugees here,” Jordanian police said. 1999: Mama said “America where people are free and safe” accepted us. 2020: Pandemic. Despair. Racism. 7,791 miles. Iraq to America. Still not enough to escape injustice. White coat hangs, symbolizing the force that preserves life, instead of destroying it. Shams Nassir (Medical Student)

No One Untouched

“You need to come now.” I hang up the phone having just shattered Sam’s life and forty year marriage. He blames himself. If only he’d seen her at the nursing facility he would have known something was wrong sooner. But the virus kept him away. A death not due to COVID, but tainted by it. Jennifer Caputo-Seidler (Faculty Member)

False Advertisement

Never ending war, repression of basic human rights, and scarce quality education pushed my family to leave our home and risk imprisonment and the dangers of human trafficking. The US beckoned with abundant opportunities from across the Atlantic, masking the reality that it will always reduce me to the color of my skin first. Daniom Tecle (Medical Student)

Virtually Impossible Grief

My intern and I stand with an ipad to facetime the family -too far away, with travel restrictions. The grandmother starts to keen at the sight of her boy. He is too still now, fixed and dilated, only ventilator breaths. “He cannot be that!” broken English, broken hearts, broken composure and we all weep together. Katherin Mason (Faculty Member)

Making Do

A duckbill mask filled with the pale blue remnants of what were once elastic straps. Through punched holes, I weave thin strips of Coban and tie ugly little knots. My hair twists mutinously around these new, cumbersome straps. I swear I hear the sickly snap of each breaking strand. I never liked arts and crafts. Nina Lemieux (Medical Student)

Patient – from Latin for “one who suffers”

Can’t remember his name or surgery. Multiple pages about his irritated eyes. Internal bleeding patient took priority. Hours later I make it to his room. He looked at me through his eye watering. “I’m alright, Doc. I don’t have pain. But if you could give me something for my eye, I sure would appreciate it.” Mike M Mallah (Resident)

It Happens, Even in a Pandemic

We were two friends starting off our very first rotation. She is white and I am Indian, which made the difference. The questions started immediately. “But where are you from?” “Are you Dr. Ahmed’s daughter?” “Love your tan skin.” Though they were harmless, my friend never got these comments. It happens, even in a pandemic. Meha Shah (Medical Student)

Despairing Monotony

For me, the allure of an Infectious Diseases career was twofold: the somewhat guilty thrill of the differential diagnosis, paired with and mitigated by the fact that cure was typically within grasp. COVID-19 robbed me of these gratifications: diagnostic mystery and the capacity to heal. Practicing during the pandemic has been a dreadful, despairing monotony. Emily Abdoler (Faculty Member)

A Story Erased

Their dream was medicine, but it was not easy. They failed and tried again multiple times. The feeling that came with their success was immeasurable. All the sleepless nights, the stress, sacrifices, and hard work paid off. Then they hear “its easier for you because of your ethnicity.” Just like that, their story was erased. Sanga Shir (Medical Student)

Caught Useless

Seventy-something, Italian immigrant, dementia. In the COVID pandemic, there are no activities, nothing open. He worsens. Me, a soon-to-be medical student, but the lack of an MD degree stings. I cannot help my grandfather, nor dying COVID patients. If I spent a year convincing schools I am qualified, then why do I feel so useless? Anonymous

Providing Comfort

Hair cap, N95, surgical face mask, face shield. My daily armor I smile, but they cannot see. My eyes are all that are available No family, no friends allowed; they are alone and afraid. Compassion and love From my soul, through my touch and my eyes I hope to provide. Kavita Shah (Faculty Member)

A Smile is Worth a Thousand Words

Good news is a breath of fresh air A smile long gone, one can finally wear Radiation complete Baby can finally eat Smoking – finally quit Can walk again instead of sit The mask that protects, also hides The greatest emotion we feel inside Joy – a contagion free of harm Hidden now – replaced with alarm. Maria Shields (Medical Student)

Consult & Console

“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)

Pandemic Hero

Her voice crackled on the phone. “Sounds like hero stuff to me.” It was embarrassing to explain that all I really do is assemble PPE and study in my room; sidelined while real doctors risk themselves on COVID wards. Medical students rarely feel useful, but now we’re reminded of it every day on the news. Jacob Hartman-Kenzler (Medical Student)

The Wave on My Run

I ran along the dusty road, To escape the loneliness and pain untold. Toward the old woman sitting on the porch I plodded, She became my beacon given what life had allotted. A stranger she remains in every sense except one, Everyday without knowing it she saves me, with a simple wave on my run. Anonymous

Orientation “Zoom”-ing By

In silence, scrolling through “gallery view” to make friends. In person meetings create a 10-person community but it’s more than spotty online connections can do. “This ain’t college” and it certainly doesn’t feel like it. The upcoming unknown feels overwhelming but I am reassured that I’m not the only one who feels this way. Sarah Gold (Medical Student)

Withdrawal of Accreditation

Close the program. Voluntary? Hardly. Inevitable. Yes. Told residents. Told faculty. We mourned. Saved the best for last said residents. End of an era said faculty. We planned a celebration. COVID-19. Black Lives Matter. We shifted attention to more important issues. Turned off the lights and closed the door. Silent goodbye. No we. Only me. Lisa Gilmer (Faculty Member)

Our Reflections

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)

There Was A Day

There was a day when life felt warm; serene and calm, Perhaps foretold of an approaching storm, Then there is today, like a shadowy squall, As life dissipated into a helpless yowl, But there is always tomorrow, unseen but felt Of hope and love, far but near, Like a story of history and time itself. Hamza Ali Lodhi (Fellow)

The wrong patient

Chart review: 82 y/o female with multiple cancer relapses and a poor prognosis. ”I married my high school love sixty years back. We travelled, raised kids and are blessed with great-grandkids. I have had a wonderful life ” She started treatment before I was even born. I wondered if I was with the wrong patient. Roshan Chudal (Resident)

Post-COVID Clinic

“So you’re who I have to blame for my hoarseness?” said my former ICU patient. “But you were REALLY really sick…” In that moment, you understood: your eyes filled with tears and gratitude, as did mine, and we were two doctors both crying over Zoom as we stared at each other, thankful to be alive. Lekshmi Santhosh (Faculty Member)

Adapting

Our family Moved cross-country to start medical school. All day I learn science and humanities So that I won’t lose my humanity When my future patients need it most. My wife, Pregnant, nauseated, Isolated from old friends by distance And from new friends by COVID-19, Somehow cares for our son without me. No regrets. Grateful. Zachary Jensen (Medical Student)

Love in the time of Corona

The wedding was canceled. A package came from my mom – two masks, one white with lace, one black with a bowtie. We asked our Medicine program director to marry us on the nearby bridge. We walked down the street, our families in our pockets, our dog replacing the bridal party. It was wonderful. Sarah Rhoads (Resident)

Body Language

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)

A Wandering Smile

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)

Mental Health

A chair and a desk In the basement of my home. Isolation, fear, uncertainty. A light and a chime From the screen of my computer doubt, nervousness, anxiety. A laugh and a voice Fills the air in my room. Resilience, hope, reverie. Notes and drawings Sprawled across my desk. Excitement, zeal, fervency. Connection can heal. Peter Vollbrecht (Faculty Member)

Pressing Pause

Commitment to heal and serve others, in their most vulnerable moments of life. We earnestly swore. Years of studies, hoping knowledge would save. Mastering the art of physical exam. Healing through touch. Yet faced with pandemic, we are discouraged to touch. Sent home. Knowledge paused. Unable to heal. The irony: Student doctors shielded from disease. Hanna Knauss (Medical Student)

Sacrifice

Spend my days taking care of sick patients. Exposing myself. As a result, I’m radioactive. When I need care, I fail the screening questionnaire. Any known exposures? Yes. Lots. My appointment delayed. Once, twice, three times. Doctor and nurse won’t come near me. Testing delayed. Diagnosis delayed. Caring for others, at the expense of myself. Anonymous

Masked connections

Connections with patients form the foundation of trust That connection used to evolve from a smile or gentle touch Now, I smile at patients, forgetting that the smile is hidden behind my mask I look into their eyes and see their fears and hopes We continue on and make new connections through all the uncertainty. Eleny Romanos-Sirakis (Faculty Member)

Together Apart

Our eyes now smile for our mouths that have lost the privilege. They pierce through the tension engendered by collective fear to remind us that we are still human, and that we still have the propensity to love one another. Our eyes protect us by bringing us together, while keeping us apart. Mika Mintz (Medical Student)

Gratefulness

Our crisis wears on And life still creates challenges New and old to all I know what I’ve kept I see what others have lost Hardships, they abound You are on my mind My heart goes out to you all who give in these times Thank you for everything you do. Fatima Chagani (Medical Student)

Safe breathing spaces

We are hunkered down afraid to breathe Looking for hope Within this long night We lost a lot Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Husbands, wives Alas children too Let us fight for rights Of those vulnerable Let us equalize the breath Give a gift of safe breathing space For colors of the heart are the same. Manveen Saluja, MD (Faculty Member)

Misfortune Rising

Balancing on tightrope Rural America and inner-city staring me down Death haunting those I love Lack of hospitals- grim reaper looming Family casualties in the war of inequality and racism New threat of COVID-19- misinformation rising The first medical degree- potential savior A long path- bringing awareness hopefully home. Evelyn Darden (Medical Student)

Video visit

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)

Optics, plastics, and haptic

Filtered breath escapes between my mask and nose, fogging shield, yet I clearly see your worried brow. Cloth and plastic muffle voices, disguise faces, lips cannot hide smiling eyes. I would grasp your warm hands with my inevitably cold ones, tactile sensate Gloved must do haptics muted by clammy nitrile cannot dull a healing touch. Lealani Mae Acosta, MD, MPH (Faculty Member)

Visiting

Ms. J cried, then apologized for crying. After surgery, I worried about her. It was mid-March. I didn’t know what was safe. But she was afraid, so I visited her. She told me, “It’s too much.” I listened. I kept my distance. I worried about the breath that carried my words. Still, this felt essential. Sharada Narayan (Medical Student)

Regret

Social distancing kept me from noticing how sick you had become. Our 15 year routine of Sunday dinner, became limited to FaceTime and grocery drop offs, where you toughened up so that I wouldn’t be concerned. Now, as you reach your final days, I think that maybe you should have been my bubble buddy. Annie Wood (Administrator)

Vermont Spring

A Vermont lake cabin reserved for childhood weekends suddenly became our home for three months. My fiancée and I arrived in early March, early enough to watch the spring ice melt. We cancelled our forthcoming wedding, baked sourdough bread, and warily, perhaps idyllically, welcomed a new, inexplicable world. Andrew Catomeris (Medical Student)

A hand to hold

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)

Finding Color in the Darkness

Knitting has always been my companion; in COVID, we grew closer. She brought purpose to my hands when touch was no longer an option. She made me feel useful as the world crumbled and roused parts of my brain through creativity. Together, we discovered what could be as yarn unraveled and color returned from darkness. Judith Brenner (Administrator)

Moving Pieces

His days are long at sixty, As they have always been. His eyes closed briefly between cases When the adrenaline fades. His cough is better now. My time is still consumed by Books and flashcards and Mock patient encounters, But I’m coming, Dad. I’ll be there soon. Winston Whiting Oliver (Medical Student)

Heal

Emotions have been everywhere. Students care and want to see patients. Residents want to experience the pandemic upfront. We must let them. We must support them. We must protect them. We must keep ourselves whole. We must let patients see our hearts and imagine our faces. We must breathe. We must teach. We must heal. Regina Macatangay, MD (Faculty Member)

Into the Unknown

She’d only let her phone ring once before she excitedly answered. “Hi, honey! How’s work?” “We had our first COVID patient today.” She sat down, silently. “It’s bad.” He paused. “Don’t…come home tonight. Just stay at your mom’s for now.” “Until when?” “Until it’s over.” “But when is that?” “…I don’t know.” He whispered. Estelle Vu (Medical Student)

My Bias

Black, purple sweatpants and sneakers, and scruffy beard, in the ER. His phone rings, “that’s my song” he asserts. Eyes roll, yeah right. “I need to be discharged to receive my Grammy” he proclaims. Eyes roll, yeah right. My bias, almost missed conversing with a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee and Grammy winner. Douglas Ander (Faculty Member)

The gift of touch, through PPE

Sick teen, dialysis. Went to tell her mother: ‘no changes’. She told me the loss of an infant prepared her for this child’s diagnosis, and another daughter’s. Four months ‘cancer-free’ before relapse. Grateful for ‘the talk’… “it was OK to die”. I listened, thanked her. Through PPE, I touched her shoulder: “see you tomorrow”. Tears. Don Batisky, MD (Faculty Member)

Shumard Oaks

Breaking through societal imposed expectations, statistics, and reignited resentment. Proceeding through a heightened awareness of what Mr.Roth would refer to as The Human Stain. I rebuke self-imposed limitations. My mind is durable, my will is tenacious, and my humanity will serve all the same. Vanessa Vides (Medical Student)

A Double Toxic Kiss

Days after both feeling sick. “You might want to get checked.” “Checked for what?” “I’m at urgent care- nose swabbed and blood drawn.” “Wait there- I’m coming.” He arrives and gets tested. “Where’s my kiss?” Kisses me rather hesitantly. Nurse comes over with my results. “Reactive.” “For!?” “..M. Pneumonia.” We patiently wait. “…..mine says nonreactive.” Tiffany Rebecca Sánchez (Medical Student)

Local epidemiology, not in the news?

Cars arrive on the block, parking closer than 6 feet. Visitors carry toddlers, glass containers for potluck next door. BBQ smokes, tempting aromas aerosolize. As people cross the exposed lawn, I see smiles, not masks. My phone pings again, irritating. Alerts for each new positive SARS-CoV-2. They keep coming. My neighbors do not hear. Kathleen Julian, MD (Faculty Member)

A Good-bye

Your wan face appears on my screen. Disappears. A voice I don’t know says something I can’t make out. You re-appear. You are small amongst white sheets and blue tubes. Silent amongst beeps and alarms. Still amongst calamity. The heat of your skin after gardening on a sun-scorched day or making love- a distant memory. Nan Barbas (Faculty Member)

What lay ahead

Social distancing isolated him, and left him time to think, A window into what might wait for him after retirement. To avoid his future, his pain, led him to drink, And so he came to us. We removed his shroud. He stepped from our hands to the care of others. We stood together, fighting despair. Philip Brown (Medical Student)

Patient Care

“There’s no heartbeat”, she says. Not again. Numbly trudge back to work to face another day. First patient: “Been praying for you every day. You pregnant yet?” I burst into tears. Very professional. An ample, yet firm, gentle, yet strict grandmother of 11, she gives me the only comfort I’ll feel today. A mother’s hug. Eliana Hempel (Faculty Member)

Quite the med school ride

Med school, such an incredibly hard endeavor for it’s subjects. Imagine starting your first semester just to have a hurricane blow by in September and wreck your island. Couple of years later get a 6.4 magnitude earthquake followed by the COVID-19 a couple of months later. WE WILL PREVAIL! Jaime A. Roman (Medical Student)

Quarantine Stitches

Quarantine breeds stress Anxiety builds Thoughts race, water runs, dishes soak, the cassoulet breaks Blood between thumb and index finger pools Stitches needed Left arm raised high Call the PCP, stay calm They’ll see me Thankful for community-based-care, my kind DO Asked what I needed, listened and validated all the feelings. Ali Smolinski (Administrator)

Retrospection

Falling leaves approaching dusk and old photographs make me cry. Unshed tears the limited time pills large and small constrict my throat. Precious moments fugues in time halcyon days swim before my eyes. The touch of your hands hope in your eyes the smile on your face are all I need to go on. Ananya Das (Research Proposal Specialist)

“Everything will be ok” is not the answer to everything

“Why dad doesn’t wanna wear a mask? I told him to! He doesn’t care!” —says the boy, while pulling the beanie down to his nose, drying his tears. “Does he wanna die of COVID and not be with me?” My first Tuesday’s Children at the Psychiatric Clinic. I was wearing a colorful ribbon as requested. Angélica Nieves-Rivera (Medical Student)

Clerkship Interrupted

My lifeless whitecoat hangs on the door, Safe to say it’s needed no more. TikTok, Netflix, and long walks, Sometimes it’s nice when the TV just talks. Sitting and waiting for the pandemic to be done, I wonder if the virus has already won. Max Trojano (Medical Student)

The Quake and the Virus

A year earlier, no one would have believed you; that Puerto Rico would live through two major earthquakes and a pandemic in the span of 5 months. Yet, here we are. The psychological and financial impact of the earthquakes was worsened by the pandemic. Nevertheless, we as medical students continue to prepare for tomorrow. Ramon Misla David (Medical Student)

When Being Safe Doesn’t Mean Being Free

Often felt helpless as a doctor. Hopeless, too. Par for the course. Unrestrained virus isn’t affecting me, though. Watching friends and family on the front lines, exposed, vulnerable. This is devastating me. The guilt feels quite heavy. Should I seek out ways to help? Or do I indulge in the lack of personal risk? Gabriel Sarah, MD (Faculty Member)

Protected

I examine my patients, masks slung under noses. A toddler sneezes on me. I change my scrubs. My blue paper mask is a week old. My patient’s father has an N95. He sleeps in it alone in their private room. Every visitor masked properly. I catch myself staring enviously, maybe angrily. Then, I am ashamed. Heather Edward (Resident)

The Transformation

A once bustling unit transformed. All patients were moved. Short-lived quiet set in, Broken by the construction crew, Adding monitors, exhaust fans to the windows. Would this be another COVID ICU? Overnight every bed would be occupied. This process repeated day after day, Spreading throughout the hospital like a virus. Tears flowed. Back to work. Steven J. Sperber, MD (Faculty Member)

She is a nurse too

Gloved hand caresses her head, grey-white hair soaked with sweat She looks at me, fearful, breathing strained A mask shields my worry My face should not be the last she would see She slips into sleep Intubated Hang fluids, give pressors, change the vent Googles fogging, I’m now sweat-drenched She is a nurse too Stephen Paul Wood (Administrator)

Sickle No More

She presented with another Sickle Cell Crisis, day before her 22nd birthday. My first patient as an intern. Bilateral leg ulcers visible to the eye. Tulips delivered from her twin brother the night before. Intravenous fluids, Dilaudid, and Oxygen. Morning rounds, code called. Compressions performed, unsuccessful. Beautiful peacefulness in her eyes, flowers at her bedside. Stephen Henderson (Faculty Member)

Blank Stare

Eyes wide open unable to look away from the world furiously unraveling. We began this journey to help, now we sit still, idling. Incapable of offering our untried hands; we grieve the loss of opportunity. When again will we look into a patient’s eyes? Until then, we stare blankly at the computer screen, our pedagogue. Shelby Henry (Medical Student)

Sole Soul

For my patient, I act as their loved one. Standing vigil outside a glass door, holding their hand in my gloved palms, watching over them behind googles and mask. For loved ones, I am the sole soul standing between their family member and the dark cloak of Death who paces the halls watching in turn. Sara Journeay (Resident)

Solitary confinement

Donning PPE, my gloved hand on his shoulder, “Sir, you have coronavirus.” 　 He didn’t move. His foot handcuffed to bedrail. His dad died last week from the virus. Didn’t see him. Didn’t make the funeral. “Doc, my cellie kept coughing. No way to keep us 6 feet apart. No masks. No cleaning supplies.” Solitary confinement. Priti Dangayach (Faculty Member)

Unexpected Goodbye

It came out of nowhere when you left; It was crime, it was theft. Your time was short but your legacy long, We will celebrate your life in dance and song. I can’t say I’ve struggled like you; But I can say I’ve been low too. Your pain was unique; But peace, we all seek. Onyebuchi Okeke (Medical Student)

Untitled

I wake up. Put on a mask. Can’t breathe. We sit with white coats and laptops, discussing patients with hours left. My patient grabs my hand. “It’s okay, I’m not afraid. I know where I’m going.” Tennis ball in my throat. Can’t breathe. Pager beeps: “Need you to declare time of death.” No more breath. Mikaela Katz (Resident)

The Storm

Like an encroaching storm, COVID-19 gains momentum. An ominous sky foreshadows masked isolation and death. Discontented winds sweep the land. The burden of racial injustice saturates the dark clouds, erupting in pelting rain, each drop stinging wherever it lands. Hailstones of racial violence add destruction to the deluge. Will a rainbow follow this national maelstrom? Michael P. Flanagan, MD (Faculty Member)

Like Stars

Like stars we shine and burn Like a noble army of white coats In eternal defense of the earth from the moon. Armed with any number of antidotes To save all but ourselves. For we are not immune. Like stars we shine and burn And burn out. Matt Tsai (Medical Student)

A chink in someone’s armor

Once she sees my raven hair and “exotic” features, will she ask me to go, ok? As I flip another intubated COVID patient prone to ease his breathing, I study his brown and yellow life lines. Will I be a chink and someone’s armed, or Will I be identified for who I am? A doctor. Lealani Mae Acosta, MD, MPH (Faculty Member)

Fractured

They say, “It’s not a great time to enter medicine”. They say, “This country is fractured beyond repair”. “So America is like a skeleton”? “Then who’s better to repair, than those in healthcare”? We might be scared of what’s to come. But we will work til’ we’ve gone numb. Lauren Pomerantz (Medical Student)

COVID Goodbyes

The nurses in the CCU used to make their calls at 4 a.m.: “Come in at once.” Loved ones would hurry in just in time told hold a hand. But now the spouses, lying all alone at home, listen to the dreaded midnight message on the telephone, then try, but fail, to fall asleep again. Joseph Gascho (Faculty Member)

The New Screen Time

After years of resisting distraction by computer screens during office visits, my patients have ironically become one. Where touch and gestures are limited, the pace and tone of our voices, tools unfettered by telemedicine, become essential. Simply reassuring patients that we are here for them despite not being there in person goes a long way. Jillian Pecoriello (Medical Student) in collaboration with Dr. Jeffrey Millstein

Your Body Speaks

You can no longer recite your hopes and aspirations, but I’ve held the brain that formatted them. You can no longer communicate your hardships of life, but I’ve retraced all the scars etched in your skin. You can no longer tell me, but your body speaks for you. What a beautiful life you lived. Jesseca PirkleMedical Student

MS2 to MS3 Transition……Loading

Scrolling through an endlessly disconnected social media, the light gets drained from me. Scrolling through my emails, meaningful extracurricular opportunities re-enlightening me. Scrolling through clinical modules to read, simulating an experience so close yet so distant for me. Scrolling through a prolonged phase of imposter syndrome, except the scrolling function feels disabled to me. Irfan Ali KhanMedical Student

Becoming a Physician During the Pandemic

I choke down coffee in the parking lot. Once the mask is on, it’s on. Under blaring E.D. lights, I quake. I am your doctor. Mask, goggles, face-shield: PPE protects patients from my fear. Taking the Hippocratic Oath, I had imagined my future fear: Will I hurt you? But now, also: Will you hurt me?Hanna M. SaltzmanResident

Unprecedented times of Uncertainty

Another invisible war to fight. Headline news – “in these unprecedented times of uncertainty.” I am confused, what are we referring to, COVID-19 or how I’ve felt my whole life as a black man in America? Pause, breathe, think. Maybe knowing is not important because something is different this time. Ironically, I don’t feel alone. AnonymousMedical Student

#13

Francisco J. Lopez-FontMedical Student

Stamford

We pray before dawnPreparing our walk along the RippowamProtect us, protect our child, give us strength Holding coffee and handsWe turn quietly up BroadProtect us, protect our child, give us peace We kiss before maskingI follow her tired eyes and growing wombProtect her, protect our child, help us all Ethan McGannMedical Student

Destiny or Obscurity: Life of a Health care Professional during the pandemic…

I am not scared of death, but the uncertainties of lifeEveryday i go to bed with my faith to wake up alive Sometimes worried about the fall, yet I am standing tallIt’s “Hippocratic Oath” Guys! All troubles seems small Let’s embrace the uncertainties with responsibilityTo defeat the virus, racism, stigma & inhumanity… Jarina Begum, MDFaculty Member

Did my grandmother send her?

Two girls were born on the same daythousands of miles apart. They grew up speaking Spanish.Thirty years later, CoVID and pregnancy would bring them to meet across an ICU window.Over shared prayers and a rosary;intubation;delivery;finally – a crying baby at home with his mom.It’s our birthday this week. Diana RoblesFellow

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Physician Parenting during the Big Germ

To our daughters,We needed to be at the hospital – to take care of other kids – but you needed us too. Daycare closed.What you learned during the big germ isn’t what we planned to teach you.About Sickness,Hugging,Sharing,Childhood spring and summers.Smiles covered by masks, tears visible.Love,Mama and Papa C. Paula Lewis-de los Angeles, MD, PhD (Resident) and William Lewis-de los Angeles, MD (Faculty Member)

Mirror

Brandon A. DurantResident

Everyday

“What’s your name?”The dreaded questionYou can’t pronounce itI’ll have to spell it outRepeat myselfDo I butcher the very thing that identifies meFor your easeOr suffer through the routineOf trying to assuage your discomfortI love my nameI hate the way you make me feel about it Anmol HansMedical Student

Just Another Shift

He was young. He was loved. With every chest compression we heard his voice, the wails of his family. We worked our hardest. For two hours we tried and tried. But it was for naught. For he was long gone. We said our goodbyes. Now its back to work. Another life saved. Another life lost. AnonymousFaculty Member

Essential Personnel

I can’t breathe.Is it the seal of an N95 respiratorOr the sole of a black leather boot crushing my windpipe#SupportHealthcareHeroesUntil, like Breonna Taylor, our black and brown skin is no longer made palatable by whiteWhite ambulances, coats, and hospital badgesMake us essential personnel but not essential personsAaminah AzharMedical Student