Tag: Reflection
The Sound of Healing
Jonathon Liu, MS3, Class of 2025
Throughout my clerkships, I have encountered many patients, each teaching me valuable lessons about disease processes, pharmacology, and the underlying science of medicine. However, beyond the technical knowledge, it is the patient interactions that I cherish deeply. My experiences have also underscored the importance of bedside manners and the establishment of a strong rapport with patients. The art of delivering compassionate, patient-centered care is fundamental, enabling physicians to truly connect with their patients, understand their experiences, and facilitate more effective healing. Humanism is, indeed, a quintessential element in medicine. During my Internal Medicine Clerkship, I had an encounter that brought this abstract lesson to life—fundamentally shaping my approach to medicine.
In the ICU, I met a patient grappling with unstable atrial fibrillation and a host of cardiovascular complications as a direct result of poorly managed type 2 diabetes mellitus. Yet, his physical ailments barely scratched the surface of his suffering. Initially, I entered his room to gather his medical history using the comprehensive approach taught at my home institution—covering chief complaints, medical history, family history, social history, and more while simultaneously being expected to efficiently collect and report the necessary information to our medical team. However, our conversations soon unveiled a narrative steeped in frustration, anxiety, and a profound sense of abandonment. He shared his long struggle with type 2 diabetes mellitus and the daunting side effects of metformin that had overwhelmed him—nausea, vomiting, bloating, and a repulsive metallic taste. When he sought help, his concerns were dismissed, leading him to resort to unproven supplements. His condition deteriorated, necessitating insulin, which he avoided due to fear of experiencing similar or worse side effects.
Recognizing the depth of his disillusionment, I made a commitment as his student doctor to work to unpack his fears and concerns. I promised my patient that I would advocate for him to my medical team. Day by day, beside his bed, our conversations blossomed beyond healthcare, touching upon his life, fears, hopes, and dreams. I learned of his service as a war veteran, his passion for exploring local restaurants, his and his wife’s adventurous spirits, and his profound kindness and love for his family. Our conversations became something we both looked forward to daily. These moments of shared humanity reminded me of the significant impact empathy and active listening can have on kindling a relationship with my patient.
Together, we navigated his health fears, exploring alternative treatments while his concerns and preferences were at the forefront of all decision-making processes. This patient-centric approach reignited his motivation to manage his diabetes, marking a pivotal shift in his treatment journey. By forming a strong bond through daily interactions, I became a more effective advocate for him, amplifying his voice, supporting him through his improvements, managing side effects, and navigating setbacks.
This experience reinforced a fundamental truth: healing transcends the physical aspects. Medicine demands humanity, which can only be achieved through nurturing strong, trusting relationships with patients. When we take the time to genuinely connect with our patients, listening intently and empathizing deeply, we can significantly transform the quality of their healthcare. At the heart of medicine lies this simple, profound principle: to care for another is to see them, hear them, and stand with them in their moments of vulnerability. This encounter has indelibly shaped my understanding of what it means to heal, reminding me that the core of humanism in healthcare is the profound connection between a doctor and their patient.
Remembering
Cooper Root, MS3, Class of 2025
My first trauma surgery call shift was on a regular Thursday night. It was very slow and nothing eventful happened most of the night. I was able to sit at the hospital and complete all my studying, and even managed to get plenty of extra work done as well. I went to sleep, the pager had yet to go off, and it seemed like it would be a straightforward night. At about 3:30 AM my pager went off multiple times in a row – Level I trauma ETA 5 minutes. I scrambled to get ready and hustled down to the trauma bay. I arrived to hear there was an apartment fire and we actually had 3 individuals arriving simultaneously. I knew my role and prepared to fill out the injury sheet, cut clothes, grab blankets, and anything else to help. To my surprise, I did none of that when I saw the patient. A young girl was wheeled in with no pulse and CPR machine on her chest. She suffered extensive burns to her entire body. The CPR device was removed, and I was thrust to the bedside to immediately begin chest compressions. In a state of shock, I began this process, frequently getting told “faster, deeper, pick up the pace”. After a few minutes that felt like hours, someone relieved me of my duties but to no avail. The patient never regained a pulse and was pronounced dead within minutes of arrival. Rather than take time to process and grieve, two more patients get wheeled in with other injuries from the fire as well. I was immediately sent to go help those patients, without a moment to reel in how I had felt from one of my few direct experiences with death.
Medicine can be so fast paced and dynamic, one of the many aspects we all love about the field. We are considered excellent in these moments of sudden change, creating a fully functioning team with assigned roles and responsibilities in a matter of seconds. It is fascinating how effective a few random healthcare workers can become a multi-functional fluid machine in moments of extreme chaos. But often we tend to act exactly like that, a machine, once these moments pass. Calculated, automated, analytical, and unemotional. The team did a great job, and I felt as if they all truly cared about what they were doing and trying to save this woman’s life. As the years go by and these instances occur often, it’s human nature to glance past the gravity and finality of what we deal with on a daily basis. I am likely more guilty of this than anyone, as I was essentially numb to this experience until writing this essay, and fully comprehending that someone’s life ended in front of my eyes, someone younger than myself. I couldn’t tell you a thing about this person unfortunately, other than her injuries, and that we did what we could to save her, and that is a strange feeling as well, considering most of my experiences with death have been older family members, or at least people I know on a personal basis. How did she spend her last day? What were her goals in life? What did she think about before drifting off to sleep? Questions that will never be answered for me, and an experience that will never be taken from me. Ultimately, what this experience did for me was to provide a challenge. A challenge to never lose sight of the person within the patient, rather than the disease, injury, or pathology that may be affecting them. Sometimes the best way to honor a patient is just put your head down and do everything you can to save others and take solace in the fact that you will do everything you can to save the next.
To her friends, family, and loved ones – I am truly sorry for your loss. I wish there was more we could have done. I hope to honor this experience with this essay, which is nothing compared to having her here with us. I hope you all have found some sense of solace in your loss. She will not be forgotten.
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”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.”
In the Hush of Solitude
Ryan Service, CLS4, Clinical Laboratory Science
All alone in the silence,
the heart on the paper has no strings,
Where thoughts and emotions pass us by,
Never truly walking, yet always near,
Invisible presences, both distant and transparent.
Continue reading “In the Hush of Solitude”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.
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.
Continue reading “The Way We Remember”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.
Continue reading “Luster”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.
