Vigil
Sun-kissed freckles,
Stark against your pale face.
Sun-kissed freckles,
Stark against your pale face.
Day 1: you are minimally conscious
Without coherent thought.
He decompensates at shift change;
The team is pulling out the epi drip.
Back in the hospital; pain, bloody stools.
Septic shock, stabilized.
I was once told
to be careful
with the words we choose.
Two pairs of brown eyes glaze over as the
Another night, another >35 admissions
No one talks about
the secondary trauma
Black fingers match black toes
Disappointment overwhelms me as we
wheel her to the ICU
It starts as a forced collaboration
“Sick or Not-Sick?”
Our first task after leaving the classroom.
I love watching a brother,
“Are you even a doctor?”
For self care, they say to “fill your cup.”
As female physicians,
Workplace sexism is an everyday reality.
“Where will you go next?” people ask,
dying to know my answer.
He went by Joe. I helped him die.
“Beep beep beep” goes the pager.
Another cross-cover problem.
To the struggles that only you know
That you wrestle with
One day I arrived to work,
looked around the team room,
She materializes on screen in her usual
sunny spot,
Can be helpful in describing disease
processes
A slip.