Before getting dressed for work this morning, I stood in my kitchen, marveling at the ice crystals, or “tree diamonds,” as my mother calls them, from the window above the sink. As I waited for the coffee to brew, I scrolled through the text messages sent to my phone overnight until I saw my friend’s forwarded news link: “Doctors suspect COVID delayed immune response in young surgeon’s death.” I clicked ...

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You were a twenty-one-year-old Black man. When we received you, your eyes were open I asked if you could hear me You whispered a phone number and “Mom.” To the green sterile operating room With your breaths of anesthesia, Your final conscious moments Your pain ceased. We worked on you for hours, Terrell. I swear we tried With fourteen units of O negative Surgeons explored your wounds. They clamped your major arteries. Until your heart failed And we watched you leave us. I was a ...

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It was mid-January, and I found myself catching some rays on a rooftop in Cancun with 15 other physicians — all women of varying ages and medical specialties. Besides enjoying the sand in my toes and a martini glass in my hand, I was there to attend the TransforMD retreat, looking for clarity on my life choices, values, and goals. Daily Vedic meditation was to be integral to the agenda. That ...

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