Chemo

by Andrew Merton in memory of Jane Pufky Nesbitt In ‘65 David drove her east, this secretary from Syracuse, to meet his college buddies. David in a Red Sox cap, unveiling Jane like next year’s...

Biopsy

by Andrew Merton The surgeon carves a slice from my tongue, the bit, as it happens, containing the letter L. In a week, he says, it will give us an answer. Meanwhile, lust disappears, la...

Days of the Giants

by Madaline Harrison Days of the giants. When I was in training, the attendings used that phrase, often after telling a story from earlier days in medicine, describing a harrowing night on call or a now-lege...

Bok Choy

by Valerie Borey My sister-in-law had offered to help me chop vegetables in the kitchen, ferret eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses sizing me up. “Do you know how to chop bok choy?” I giggled. “Like celery, I th...

Dad Died

by N. West Moss When I was little, Dad would get into the car and say, “Let’s get lost.” “OK,” I’d shout, sitting up in the front seat next to Dad, where kids were allowed back then, no seat belts require...

Edgar Degas’s Eyes

by Zeynel A. Karcioglu, MD and David A. Eliason, MD Department of Ophthalmology, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Virginia Edgar Degas (1834-1917), the eminent French painter, struggled throughout ...

Haiku

by Marian Pierce She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door. She said good morning in Japanese to the man waiting beside the stretcher, and his smile and deep b...
door handle

Baby in the Closet

by Marianna Crane I heard the soft hum of oxygen flowing into a tented crib as I made my way down the corridor of the pediatric unit. From another room, a child barked a wet cough. I stopped in front of t...
close up of the ribs of a leaf

Nebulizer

by Terry S. Johnson I carefully fill the canister and place the mouthpiece correctly. My inhale begins across the diaphragm and stops short too soon at the lower ribs, so clogged with pneumonia are my lu...
snowy road through the snowy woods

Iris

by Terry S. Johnson Not the spring flower catching rain in delicate whorls but the concave disc inside the eye gathering light, breathing in photons as the brain exhales understanding. The doctor’s...