No one really knows what they're getting into when they decide to go to medical school. Barely adults, asymptotically perfect, we all come climbing what will always be society's ladders. In search of the pinnacle of solace we write personal statements about the grandeur of healing, about understanding the intricacies of the human design, about tempting fate and playing God without admitting we are human too. What did you think in your first lecture when you realized all 170 people in the room didn't know the answer? What do you feel after your first test when the screen only told you you were 68% perfect? What did you do when the truth came crashing down that you were not in Kansas? I wish I could say our medical schools make more doctors than they make patients, but perhaps it takes being broken to ever truly learn that we are all just here to heal.
0 Comments
The moon fell fast asleep
as we gazed into its glow, Deciding she would like to see where the dreamers go. But the stars were not so keen to be left there all alone, knowing night would soon grow dark without their rock and stone. For the moon had been their life, a mother to them all, a light and loving presence for all things big and small. For the moon could see the truth within the vast old Milky Way that the sun was not the one giving light to make the day. For the stars and their reflection were actually behind the ray that would find the hearts of humans and show us how to pray, for all the things now shining, beyond the great divide where dreamers went to live and darkness went to hide. |
PoetryBecause all that science just gets old after a while. Archives
October 2019
|