I sat on my floor, surrounded by boxes in various states of organization and disarray, sifting through a pile of papers. I was moving for my surgical fellowship and, of course, put off packing to the last minute. However, in the middle of the hectic and scattered process, a particular stack of papers caught my eye; I felt the need to pause and go through them. They were old and ...

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“F*ck!” I pried my eyes open and had the realization of exactly what time it was. I was going to be late — again. I jumped out of bed as fast as my stiff and weary body would allow, threw scrubs on I was mostly sure were clean, ran a brush through my hair so I didn’t look totally disheveled when I had to look like professional in a few minutes ...

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We sat in the office of the intensive care unit under fluorescent lights, both staring at computer screens covered in vital signs and labs. It was the summer of my second year of residency, and I spent it entirely in the intensive care unit. There were two of us on call at night. Half the nights we would spend shooting the shit about life, and the other half we spent ...

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