I once believed
what mattered most
was the knowledge I’d secured—
not the pleasantries of weather,
nor the gentle “How are you?”
I clung to decisions
etched in stone,
a great tree fed by facts
and logic alone,
its roots crowding out
the soil of empathy.
“Going to track practice every day was my escape from the monotony of medical school.
Going to track practice was their escape from things much worse.”
If you’ve met me, you know that running has been and will always be one of the most
pivotal parts of my life. It’s the reason I went to college, the reason for my drive and fortitude in
life, and an integral part of my daily routine. My yearly vacations center around where I’ll be
racing next and even my med school research revolves around running. In short, running is
intimate and intertwined with who I am.
Thus to me, nothing would be more worthwhile than giving back to the sport that has
gotten me to where I am today: Track & Field. We’ve all heard that volunteering in medical
school is one of the most crucial extracurriculars. Residencies will want to see a physician who
cares about their community and someone who gives without expecting anything in return. The
conclusion seemed natural; I was going to volunteer as an assistant track coach somewhere.
I reached out to many nearby Kansas City high schools: Shawnee Mission East, North,
and Bishop Meige. Bluntly put, these were the rich schools; they had the infrastructure and
funding to allow me to volunteer on a come-and-go basis. They didn’t need me at these rich
suburban schools but would take me and let me pad my resume.
Wyandotte was different though. Despite the strong, caring, and capable leaders I
encountered, decades of gentrification, rezoning, and defunding had led to its steady decline.
According to U.S. News & World Report, Wyandotte High School consistently ranks in the
bottom 20th percentile in all metrics for Kansas, ranking in the 2%, 3%, and 7% in math,
reading, and science proficiency, respectively. Freshmen make up 42% of their enrollment while
graduating seniors make up only 15%. The total minority enrollment is 98%, and 90% of
students are economically disadvantaged. Suffice to say, this school was very different from the
ones I grew up with and the other schools I was looking to volunteer at.
Wyandotte’s process was different, too. Head Coach Richie Bryant invited me for an
interview, which was something none of the other schools asked for. I figured that being an ex-
collegiate athlete turned medical student was qualification enough to volunteer—all the other
schools thought so too—but I agreed to an interview nonetheless. At the very least, it would
make my decision of where to volunteer easier.
I arrived at Wyandotte, passing the police officers and metal detectors stationed at the
entrance; it was already a stark difference from my own high school days. We went through
hallways displaying the trophies and banners of the school’s glory days that only those old
historic schools have. Then, after meeting Coach Keegan and Mr. Black, we sat down in the
bleachers of their basketball gym.
I took up painting again during the pandemic, a hobby I loved in high school. It has been a profound outlet for my creativity, and it gives me a moment to relax and be present. My favorite part of painting is the process- playing around with the colors, blending the paints, and troubleshooting my next moves.
The concept of light is a common theme throughout my paintings. This time, I was inspired by Pinterest mason jars full of fairy lights. It is such a simple and comforting concept. To me, it evokes feelings of hope and wonder, like the giddy feeling you get when looking at Christmas lights or watching fireflies twinkle in June.
I love theater. I participated in my high school’s drama club, and each year I go see a few plays and musicals in KC. There is something magical that happens on stage—human ingenuity creates dazzling sets, talented actors and actresses draw me into their worlds with wonderful performances, and beautiful music ferries me through the show. And when I was asked to come back to my high school to teach the tech crew how to operate the sound and light boards, of course I had to help.
Returning to theater gives me a chance to reflect on what lessons and parallels I can draw. Most salient to me is the process by which characters are made legible (made comprehensible) on stage, and how I make myself legible to others by playing a script that others can understand based on notions of familiarity and acceptability. For example, in the case of many members of my former high school’s drama club, they must make themselves and their lives legible in a limited range of forms to access scholarships and better education on their college essays. I play the part of a medical student; therefore, I must play it adequately by exuding confidence and competence. If I were to falter at playing this part, I would expect some derision from my peers based on previous experiences of failing at playing my roles appropriately.
“What have I done to myself to make myself more legible?” I often ask myself.
Adam Wilson, M1, CLass of 2026
The blizzard smothered the squeaky old subway as it slowly pressed toward the station. Nighttime had arrived, and the darkness was brightened only by a bit of shimmer from the ice and snow that stubbornly prevailed against any shovel. I rested against my cold, hardened seat, ready to enter this frosty wonderland with a new sense of excitement; I was going somewhere new. Comfortable in my alone-ness, I was quickly awakened from this slumber as I exited the station. I was lost in the city with every street sign covered in a white blanket that chilled me to my core.
Not long later, a shadow made itself out to be a friendly face, a fellow lost traveler. “Where’s the door?!” she shouted, her voice rising above the gusts. Traversing together, we found not only the door but also a piping hot pizza waiting for us inside; we had finally arrived. Thawed by the pepperoni and the conversations of those around me, I warmed up to folks who would become close friends—the kind that have you over for dinner and make their home your home—and experienced the deepest joy as I opened my life up to these new people.
Continue reading “Finding a Friend, Finding a Home”
It’s 6:45 a.m. I show up early to my shift to get reports and collect vitals on my patients before the interruption of breakfast trays and morning rounds.
The summarized information I carry with me as I approach room 209: “72-year-old woman, here for GI bleed. Colonoscopy expected tomorrow, night shift will start bowel prep. Rheumatoid arthritis. Encourage Q2 turns. 2x assist, gait belt/walker, requires assistive devices to eat. Dysphagia diet II. Q4 vitals. Uses bedside commode. Expected discharge in one day if scope is benign.”
And the undocumented background given by nightshift: “‘Mrs. RA’ is VERY particular during mealtimes. You MUST cut everything up and put her “squishy” handle on the silverware. Her straw must point to her, and the drink must be on the right side. She has failed getting through bowel prep twice—so be encouraging today. Also, she yelps a lot when you try to move her, she’ll want to refuse Q2 turns. Her daughters will come in a lot. She likes a lot of blankets. Let’s just say she’ll hit her call button a lot.” Continue reading “Choose Humanity”
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve just been wishfully thinking my entire life.
“… so that’s why I want to work in the foreign service… because… well, the world is cool!” Scrawny, bright-eyed 18-year-old me actually spoke these words out loud, introducing myself to my Honors Ancient Civilizations class, a freshman international relations major. It became a playful, mocking mantra often recited by my friend group –in startlingly accurate high-pitched tone– every time I expressed a sincere affinity for some sort of unique culture or geographical quirk. I mean, in truth, I kind of liked it; I took it well and it suited me. As a youth, if I ever met someone from another country, they had some sort of accent, some wild backstory – whatever that ‘foreignness’ was, this new person scored mega points in my naïve head, they were automatically ‘cooler’, and I default-admired them.
Cooking has always been something I’ve found relaxing. With all the uncertainty surrounding the pandemic, I thought it would be nice to slow things down and use some of my time in quarantine to bake a few things.
The KUMC Association of Women Surgeons, OB-GYN, and American Medical Women’s Association student interest groups hosted the first annual Women in Medicine Week from September 28th, 2020 – October 2nd, 2020. Programming featured women speakers from across all areas of medicine, and included a donation drive for Rose Brooks Center, a domestic violence shelter and resource here in Kansas City. Below is a feature from many of the speakers from the week that included discussions on Sexual Assault, Sexual Harassment, Racial Disparities in OB/GYN, Women in Research, and more. All events were recorded and are available to watch at http://www.kumc.edu/women-in-medicine-week.
Med Intima 