Delayed Delivery

Azeez Baig, MS3, Class of 2025

Heading into my last shift of labor and delivery, I took some time to reflect on what many of my fellow colleagues and superiors have described as one of the most distinct memories of their medical education. Whether it was the adaptability necessary to complement the unpredictable nature of labor, the privilege to share the momentous experience of childbirth with families, or the multidisciplinary team all working towards a common goal, the labor and delivery unit served as a reservoir of education not only limited to academic, but personal growth.

My reflection was abruptly suspended, as I entered the workroom and was met with a board demonstrating nearly every bed full with laboring mothers. Shortly after, our triage beds also reached capacity. A lively start had already begun for myself and the rest of the night team.

The prior shifts leading up to this night were busy, but steady. Tonight was unlike any prior night. The amount of births that occurred over an entire night was the amount of births we had completed just a few hours in. As I bounced between triage, deliveries, and cervical checks, there was a constant amidst the exuberance. One patient I was following was scheduled to have a non-emergent c-section, and other laboring mothers with concerning monitoring led to her waiting hours longer than anticipated. Prior to entering the room, I could hear a flurry of Spanish between a few family members, and could sense uneasiness. In addition to the patient, I was met by her parents and the father, who was particularly vocal. He expressed frustration with the delay, questioning whether we had forgotten about his wife. A day as unparalleled as the birth of one’s child should proceed exactly how a mother envisions, and feeling forgotten is the last emotion we want our patients to associate with their experience. Acknowledging their frustrations, I apologized for the time spent wondering about our commitment to their care. Explaining the volatility of the service, including the urgency of delivering some mothers with concerning fetal monitoring and the shortage of team members, I saw the irritation dissipate from the room. As they thanked us before leaving, I was met with a wave of understanding and appreciation, a stark contrast from the initial energy in the room.

Experiences like this not only remind me of the privilege I have to study medicine, but also emphasize the values I hope to uphold as a future provider. While there is a standard of mastery of clinical medicine that I expect of myself, the physician-patient relationship is the foundation upon which all high-quality care is built. Accountability is a powerful tool to establish rapport with patients and, consequently, trust. Providers across disciplines are accustomed to the unpredictable nature of healthcare, where delays in care can be perceived as part of the ebb and flow of medicine. For patients, each tick of the clock can create a lasting memory, shaping their perception and relationship with healthcare.

While providers cannot alter the inherent unpredictability of medicine or the policies guiding their practice, they wield significant influence over a crucial domain – their mindset. Embracing this allows us to harness the unquantifiable facets of medicine that profoundly impact patient care. Elements such as active listening, genuine acknowledgment, and the conscientious avoidance of paternalism become potent tools within our grasp, enabling us to elevate the human dimension of healthcare.

As my last shift in the unit came to an end, my aforementioned suspended reflection resumed. However, I found myself far from my initial train of thought. Rather, I was left pensive, fixed on that patient. What I learned, the deliveries, the team, the clinical knowledge, was blurred by how I felt. The gratefulness, appreciation, and empowerment emanating from that patient served as the epitome of the type of health care I hope to provide for my patients. With the various players that comprise the team of healthcare, I strive to put my patients voice at the forefront, recognizing the impact of emotions on experience.

Under Pressure

Kameron King, M1, Class of 2027

This patient was just like all the others, and I treated her the same. With genuine care and love. She was the last patient of the day. Unfortunately, her procedure was unsuccessful. She came into recovery slightly irritated and under the post-anesthetic influence. After a short recovery, we rescheduled her procedure for numerous reasons. I was a Patient Care Tech in the Main Operating Room at a large hospital and my job was to get her to the car safely. A job I had mastered throughout my time in this role, so I thought nothing of it.

I had achieved a wonderful rapport with her, I would even consider us friends following the unlikely events that would shortly ensue. However, she was unique, not only because of her demeanor and hopeful personality, but her physique. She was 375 lbs. This did not stop her from smiling, laughing, and enjoying life to the fullest. As we laughed, and chatted about our lives, her husband got the car. Little did I know, this would be when everything changed.

I follow the protocol to a T; lock the wheelchair, patient on my right, wide gait for easy car access, and a sturdy foundation. I help her out of the chair, one hand entangled with hers and the other grasping the waistband of her pants.

Her left leg goes up to enter the passenger side of the vehicle. SNAP!
Her right leg breaks.

She immediately drops to the ground screaming in pain. As an aspiring medical student, there were very few things I knew how or what to do. Blood was going everywhere. Given the circumference of her leg, I only knew one way to acutely stop the flow, squeeze it. With her thigh in a chokehold. I begin yelling for help. I asked for tourniquets, gauze, a stretcher, and a transfer board to get her to the ER. With the simple supplies I had, I wrapped 4 tourniquets around her leg and placed many layers of gauze around the exposed tissue and held pressure.

After a few minutes, other medical personnel began to arrive. It took approximately 6 of us to maneuver the board under her in such distress and move her onto the stretcher. As we entered the ED, I was asked by the attending to give a rundown of what happened. Honestly, I don’t remember what I said because it all happened so fast. I was also just so concerned about the patient that I couldn’t even think about myself. Until my nurse manager was made aware of what had happened and came to the ED to see me. Her first words were “Wow, you have a lot of blood on you.” After some time, I had changed and the initial shock of the events had gone down, the on-call orthopedic surgeon came up to me and said “You know, you started this, why don’t you come and finish it.” He knew I was entering medical school in the fall and since I had worked in the OR for a couple of years at that point, he let me scrub in and assist with the reduction and fixation of this wonderful woman’s procedure. This was my initial spark for orthopedic trauma.

I stayed that evening until 8:30 to make sure she made it to her room. Over the next few weeks, I would check on her to make sure she was recovering well. Not only did this experience propel me into a better understanding of what patients have to go through every day, but also the unexpected things in medicine and how to be a strong advocate for patients. I will never forget the patient who put me under the most pressure at such an early point in my medical career.

Love your Patients

Simon Longhi, M3, Class of 2025

Love                       your Patients.

Her voice shakes
Gaze averts down, slowly,
hiding welled-up eyes.
But she takes a deep breath,
and states
for me:
“I feel like I’m falling apart inside… but, no.
They’re my kids, they’ve got their own lives,
… I can’t put that burden on them.”

I glance down, quickly,
at my quadrant-folded, wrinkled sheet of paper.
Lurching for an anchor– the right thing to say next,
from my scrawled, inadequate
pre-charting mess:
Myra M., 59yo lady, hx MDD moderate in remission, GAD
HR rep, three adult children, married 33 yrs
Lives w/husband (restaurant mgr, stopped working)–
recent frontotemporal dementia dx.

Myra was losing her husband, quickly.
She was becoming alone, slowly.
Her wrenching words,
yet suppressing outright despair.
Self-aware weakness,
yet wearing strength for others.
Devastating dichotomy.
I know this. Feel this.
My lips quiver, my own space behind the eyes
wells up,
because…
I saw my mom, in Myra.

My mom sacrificed everything,
for my sisters–
Autistic. Aggressive. Screaming.
Incontinent. Inconsolable. Seizures.
Innocent. Utterly un-independent.
Too much.
Worry constant, peace extinct.

The whole story feels untellable.
As a kid, processing this,
Puts the proverbial tip of the iceberg
To shame.

But Dad worked, paid the bills,
And really, I got to live free
without that wrenching responsibility.
Because, my mom insisted on it.
… Well, not in words, mostly unspoken
But I promise you, she lived it,
for me.
She may as well have said:
“Simon, I love you, do all that you ever want
with your life – Don’t worry about your sisters, please.
Keep going, don’t hold back, this is not your burden,
I got it. The world is yours, and this burden is mine.”

All of that past
is here now
in this clinic room.
In the span of a second or so, I feel everything
for this patient I just met.
I fold and re-fold the edges of my paper
Grip my pen more tightly,
as if it can absorb my nerves,
and contain a shudder in my chair.
Myra… mom… meaning.
Beautifully blurred lines in my mind.
I know where my compassion comes from,
and I’m proud of that.

But, I’m the healer now.
I have to be strong
this time– for my patient
For Myra.
FOCUS, on taking deeper history,
FOCUS, on forming treatment plan.
Love your patient, sure,
but don’t fall off that cliff of transference.
Yes, take in the view
That harrowing expanse.
But teeter well
on that cliff’s edge
Stay standing.
It’s your solemn duty.

Okay, deep breath–
next questions,
but still, keep listening.
Watery eyes are fine,
but no tears,
not right now.
Guide Myra on.
It’s my calling, my honor–
what my mom
Selflessly
imagined for me
all along.

I love                  you.

“Oh. Okay. ‘Burden’. Tell me more about that.”

Your Life is Now

Your Life is Now

Riley Burghart, Nurse Anesthesia, Class of 2026

I think we all have moments in our lives, myself included, where we are constantly running around chasing our dreams thinking, “If I can just get/do/be this, THEN I’ll be content.” Working as an ICU nurse, I learned very quickly that many individuals do not ever slow down to be grateful for the small blessings they have until those blessings are taken away. Though these thoughts are part of the human condition, I challenge you to change your mindset. There will always be more things to do, be, and achieve. But you only have one “today.” 

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Diamonds in the Rough: Working as a Track Coach at an Inner-City High School while in Medical School

Diamonds in the Rough: Working as a Track Coach at an Inner-City High School while in Medical School

Liam Lynch, M2, Class of 2026

“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.

Continue reading “Diamonds in the Rough: Working as a Track Coach at an Inner-City High School while in Medical School”

I Don’t Have Time

I Don’t Have Time

Simon Longhi, M3, Class of 2025

I don’t have time.

I happened upon my two life roads
that diverged in a wood
so much later than I’d prefer.
It’s an echoey, reverberating–…
… –Err, berating, thing
that whirrs
like a sputtering motor
within my mind. Mulling
over so much, missed, in life.
I still want to reach, proverbial peace.
Keep, my sense of wonder.
Find, finally, someone to love.
But the wind that blows
down that sort of road,
could I even let,
that,
carry me?
Is that allowed?
Because to career, careen, down
–Medicine–, that path,
my calling, as a healer, now–
shouldn’t that demand in me, most everything?

I don’t have time.

Continue reading “I Don’t Have Time”

The Way We Remember

Cecile Hermanns, M1, MD Class of 2026

I met RM in September of last year. We were paired together as part of a yearlong program where medical students meet with dementia patients and learn from their experience. We ended up meeting in her kitchen on Saturday mornings, sitting at the kitchen table and drinking coffee.

RM has early-stage dementia. She was able to tell me about her life and remember details about mine. I received some phone calls about our plans – what cookies had we decided to bake? When was I out of town? – but overall, our conversations were like any others. Except I was surprised by the depth of familiarity we reached with one another in such a short time, the way she felt comfortable sharing anything and everything with me. As a medical student I could tell that I was perceived as someone confidential, a person to confide in and trust. 

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Luster

Luster

Maddy Mash, MD Class of 2025

Stress, anxiety, heavy feelings, whatever you want to call it, come with a potency that overwhelms our mind, influencing every decision and the way we perceive the world. 

I have noticed I tend to look back on challenging stretches of life and think, that wasn’t so bad. Time gives us a lens with the blurring stress filter removed, giving a romanticized picture of the seemingly lackluster moments you overlooked. When this appreciation comes, all those moments are far gone, wasted on a overextended and burnt out mind probably because something wasn’t working out exactly the way we wanted it to at the time. 

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Hibernal Reflection

Hibernal Reflection

Trenton Edwards, M2, Class of 2025

Soon, our northern hemisphere will enter into Winter. The sun sets earlier and its warmth fades, sending trees, bears, and countless others into hibernation. In doing so, these creatures can recover from a year’s worth of wear and tear and rest in anticipation of Spring’s growth. As we too retreat indoors, we are also given a chance to look inward; an opportunity to reevaluate our relationship with others, with nature, and with ourself. Winter provides space to think about what has been left behind and what lays ahead. It gives us a chance to be more intentional about those we spend time with, and to witness those who choose to spend their time with us. Though this season may evoke feelings of loss and isolation, it is time spent alone which allows for reflection and growth. As we approach our annual chrysalis, may we put in the work necessary to emerge reborn.

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