It would be hard to miss her. She walked into the atrium, towering tall in a bright orange jumpsuit. She was led down the hallway, her handcuffed arms held straight out in front of her, palms parted as though to grasp a bouquet of flowers.
When we saw them later that afternoon, they were uncuffed, poking through flimsy sleeves of the hospital gown she was given. Without her body wrapped in its orange uniform, or the security guard sitting at the foot of her bed, you wouldn’t know she came from the prison. She now matched her neighbors, donning that sad sky blue material, that pitiful excuse for a color. The one decorating most healthcare facilities, the one that is supposed to warm up sterile rooms and hearts alike while failing at both. Continue reading “Welcome to Third Year”
Recently, I wrote this email:
Hi Dr. W,
I was a patient of yours in 2006 when I started at Scripps college.
I’ve thought about you many times as the years have passed, how lucky I was to receive such wonderful care. I am proud to say I have never relapsed since, and am strong, healthy and happy. In fact, I am now a medical student at Tulane, hoping to pay it forward.
Thank you for your work,
I’ve heard a lot about the self-pathologizing that happens in medical school. How everyone will start to think they have the various diseases we learn about. With my own family history of hyperchondriasis, I too, have been waiting to find my rare diagnosis. Waiting to learn about the condition that pieces together all the symptoms I didn’t even know I had. Luckily, by now we’ve gone those most of the bodies systems, and my bones, blood, and organs have come out “unremarkable”.