There is a certain bittersweetness in the place
That marks my journey to physicianship.
The place where my mind blossoms
And my heart will always ache.
It is here, in the hospital,
Where I am both the eager learner
And the bereaved family member.
The bright-eyed student,
The twin-less twin.
As I walk down the ever-teeming corridors
I see doctors bustling
And families mourning;
Myself, I find in both.
The wonders and woes of medicine
Irrevocably interwoven into the fabric of my white coat.
I see the place
Where I said goodbye to you.
My heart races
And swells,
Beats and lulls.
The symphony of sorrow
Plays on
Sometimes the shape of grief is the stethoscope
That hangs around my neck.
Familiar, so achingly familiar.
The magnitude of its weight
Only perceptible to me.
They tell us not to forget what makes us human.
That practicing medicine can make us cold.
But how could I ever brush past the sorrows of my patients
When I will never go a day without reconciling my own?
In the place that knows such profound sorrow
And such profound joy
Let grief be my greatest teacher.
In lieu of sending flowers,
Let me nurture my patients to bloom.
