The Road to Healing

Micah Vander Griend, M3, Class of 2025

A memorable event occurred while on my overnight trauma shift during my surgery clerkship, where I cared for a woman who had suffered a wrist injury while motorcycling with her boyfriend. Beyond addressing her medical needs, I was able to attend to her emotionally—something that can easily be forgotten amidst the pandemonium on the trauma service. She was scared, in pain, and felt uncomfortable with the experience of being unclothed, having her broken wrist manipulated for x-rays, as well as having to answer the same questions about her health and the events leading up to her admission repeatedly. Although, at the end of my 24-hour call shift, I stayed with her. I felt a deep connection with her experience and pain and wanted to alleviate her suffering.
During our time in the stifling hot and impersonal trauma bay, I held her hand while she had her wrist soft casted, engaged in conversation, learned about her life, and offered her a distraction from the pain she was surely experiencing. As our dialogue progressed, she entrusted me with her fears about the upcoming operation to repair her wrist fracture. Drawing parallels from my own childhood experience of a similar injury, I shared my recovery journey and how I was able to regain complete function of my wrist.
Although the mechanisms of our injuries were different, her anxieties were alleviated by my similar situation. She felt an immediate sense of peace and hope in her eyes was reignited; she recognized that she, too, may be able to resume various activities that she cherished, such as riding motorcycles. I felt touched that, as we said goodbye, she thanked me for the time that I had spent with her, sharing that I had made this difficult experience more manageable and peaceful. This interaction was a powerful reminder that beyond the physical wounds we treat, the emotional and spiritual healing we facilitate is equally vital.

A Home for Baby

Taylor Knowles, M3, Class of 2025

Do you hear crying?
Demanded to move, she
Swallows belongings
And cradles her womb.
”This property is private, or didn’t you see?
You don’t belong near people like me.”

Without help, she scrambles alone
Packing the items that make up her home.
An ache finds her spine like the ache in her heart
For a place to exist and create a new start
But the feet in her womb push her on
Down this path.

Two miles pass and she drops to her knees, crying
In pain as she falls on the street.
Without any medicine, what can you do for a pain so engulfing it hurts just to move?
And yet, in the stillness, the baby won’t rest.

Do you hear crying?
As she’s helped from the ground, the pain overcomes her
But, also, this sound is the cadence and chorus of
Something so sweet—the sound of a battered soul
Finding relief.

I enter her room, my notebook in hand, noting the
Name on her hospital band.
She shares how painful recounting can be, and as
She details her past miseries
I remember we all are just human.

Blood tests and images unfold the truth:
Infections are sprouting in scars from her youth.
Bacteria runs from her heart to her bones and, just
As she does, continues to roam
In search of someplace a new life can survive.