December 14, 2015

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I walk into the room Greet the patient She is happy, cheerful Much like me I sit down Still feeling like I’m playing dress-up "What brings you in today?" "Just here for a physical", she begins Run through the laundry lists in my head Location, quality, severity, timing, context Social history last We know all of this by heart now "Thank you for your time" Present to my preceptor We go in together Smiles all around Everyone is happy to be here, happy to help Happy to be part of my education The physical exam begins "How did the medical student do interviewing you?" Patient laughs "She did great", she says "But the question about abuse, she asked me if I had ever been abused I had to laugh at that That sort of thing doesn’t happen Not to people like me Not to people like her" I stand in the corner Trying to stay out of the way Pulse racing Smile faltering Mind darkening Straining against the clumsy stitches That no one can see In a room getting smaller and smaller Because it has It’s happened to me This patient a teacher As I step into those rooms As I shrug proudly into my white coat As I question my abilities and As I prove myself As I ask the tough questions As I learn what it means to be a physician Forever reminded You never know You would never know Looking at me I’m joyful confident present That I was once none of these things "Not to people like her" Words like bags of sand I’ll carry with me always My patient taught me Never, ever assume Because it’s happened to me.

- Anonymous, M1