Works

Being a physician-mother sometimes makes me feel inadequate at both jobs.

In the clinic, I hear the story: PHQ high, cuts to the wrist, just not fitting in.

You have the right to pretend you don’t see me.

The room is filled with brand-new MS1s…

Wiry, weathered rancher for a simple bladder biopsy.

Our stellar MS3 fired the stapler on her last day.

What are you reading now?

Almost done – 3 years of 4.

Jeans don’t fit…

You’ve lost your words.
Your eyes are windows,
curtains drawn.

Air cool, coffee cold, walking up hill.

I am the daughter of a physician.

G1P0, healthy, except she’s a quadriplegic.

Tow-headed, two, a tornado of energy…

I love meeting up with mentees after summer break.

In New York City…

Moonlighting in a rural ER…

I want to help but I can’t.

Intern year, month two
Called to the VA – crisis assessment needed…

breathless,
slumped beside the well-used,
stained, stainless sink,
i peer around the splattered curtain…

There was never enough air.

Unfair.

With 24 hours to live, the new organ was a timely blessing.

Why am I seeing you today? I’m not really sure – you told me to come back.

Show me the policy!