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 ...
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 ...
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 ...