The Healer's Art • 2017 • Inaugural Issue 1

the
HEALER’SINAUGURAL ISSUE

art2017

Our inaugural issue is dedicated to

Soraya Chanyasubkit and Benjamin Bloom

of the University of Maryland School of Medicine Class of 2017
Thank you for your guidance!

We wish you the best of luck in your
continuing journey as physicians.

On the cover:

Reflections, no. 3

Brenna Beck, MS1

a foreword
from the Creative HeArts Faculty Advisors
Summer 2017

“Not much to say.” I wrote these words in my journal on January 2, 2007. It
was halfway through my intern year. I was months away from turning 30
and a few more months away from getting married. I was doing the work
I had always dreamed of, and yet I was so exhausted that I barely recog-
nized myself. Despite writing avidly since age 7 (seriously, 7), and despite
so many important milestones happening in my life, I couldn’t think of
anything to write. The rest of that journal’s pages remained blank.

Dr. Neda Frayha There is something about the journey to becoming a physician that is so
Assistant Dean of Student Affairs all-consuming – of time, thought, and spirit – that it often drives out the
creative spark within us. Artistic expression, no matter what form it takes,
the can be the most joyful release. It provides us with energy and peace in
HEALER’SINAUGURAL ISSUE equal measure. It also requires time, and energy, and openness to inspira-
tion. Sometimes, it’s just easier to watch Netflix. The easel gathers dust. The
art2017 piano falls out of tune.-

In the pages to follow, you will see example upon example of our medical
students embracing their creative spirit. These students take the time and
devote the energy to turn their life experiences into art. They allow their
collective imagination space to roam freely. And, thanks to the vision and
hard work of the Creative HeArts student team, who thought of this jour-
nal and brought it to life, we as a community get to soak up all this good-
ness. I hope this issue of The Healer’s Art inspires you, reassures you, lifts
your spirits. And that when it comes to creative expression, you always feel
like you have something to say.

Dr. Sandra Quezada
Assistant Dean for Student Admissions

I am so in awe of the creative, artistic talent shared among our students,
faculty and staff. I am also indebted to the medical students who formed the
Creative Hearts team, and who produced this impressive journal. Without
their invitation to contribute a piece of artwork, I would have continued to
ignore my pastels, as I had done for over 20 years. I’d forgotten how calm-
ing and rewarding it is to allow designs and colors flow together naturally,
and I’m sure many others will also reap the benefits of cultivating their
artistic side thanks to the Creative Hearts team. We hope you will enjoy the
emotion and thought put into each piece here, and are inspired to contrib-
ute your own creation to share with us.

Any donations to the Creative HeArts team go
towards programming and future publications

Copyright © 2017 by Creative HeArts
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
used, reproduced, edited, stored or transmitted in any
manner whatsoever without written permission from
the publisher and authors of original works
Published August 2017
Printed in Maryland, USA

the Creative HeArts team
words from our 2016-2017 student members

Zahur Fatima Sallman, MS1 Michael Sikorski, MS1
Co-chair Co-chair

"Having a hand in forming Creative “Every summer for ten years I attended Com-
HeArts and this journal helped me mon Ground on the Hill, a roots music and
tremendously in my own struggle to keep arts camp where people of all walks of life
painting and photography a part of my life came together to search for a common hu-
while being a medical student. I hope this man thread. At Maryland, I am surrounded
journal encourages those on the journey by extraordinary classmates and faculty.
to becoming physicians to never let go of Creative Hearts has become my new common
their creativity and helps them find artistic ground: a gathering of people who find hu-
manity both in service to others and in shared
inspiration in medicine." creative expression.”

Rutvij Pandya, MS1 Danielle Day, MS1

“I’m really excited to be a part of this produc- “I love the emotion and humanity that this journal
tion. The intersection of arts and medicine is expresses. So often, we tend to forget that there's
something very important to me and I hope that more to medicine than labs, charts and checklists.
everyone will enjoy our first issue and all of the Every patient and every experience affects each of us
stories related to our experiences as physicians differently, and this journal has given me a glimpse
in-training. If laughter is the best medicine, the into the lives of so many people affiliated with the
University- whether faculty, fellow classmates or the
arts is a close second!” children that are the future of our community.”

Emily Min, MS1 Abby Goron, MS1

"I feel so lucky to be a part of the Creative “I joined the Creative HeARTs team because music
HeARTs team because I get to see the amazing, and art have been a huge outlet for me to de-stress
non-academic side of so many of my classmates.” and pursue my passions in addition to medicine. I
wanted to play a role in sharing the amazing talents
of our students and staff, and encouraging all readers
to realize that humanism, art and medicine truly
intertwine beautifully.”

Gideon Wolf, MS1 Shterna Sofer, MS1

"Creative Hearts is exactly the reminder we need “The journal is important to me because it allows
as Med Students to showcase the artists within me to creatively process and reflect on my journey
ourselves and our peers during the waves of through medical school.”
stress we experience. I am honored to be a part
Ankur Vaidya, MS1
of such an incredibly motivated group of people,
and am looking forward to seeing the fruits of “I joined creative heARTS to help our peers have
our school's creativity." an opportunity to unleash their creative potential,
step back from the stress, and create something
Chelsea Alvarado, MS1 new. That is what this journal is about: expressing
emotion and improving overall wellness. Creativity
“Because my dad worked professionally as a enhances productivity.”
sculptor, art has always been sentimental for me.
I find that painting without too many rules really
helps keep me mindful and significantly reduces

stress created by our demanding schedule and
life, in general. I joined Creative HeArts in hopes
that our journal will help fellow students nurture

similar attachments to the arts.”

contents1 Foreword from Faculty Advisors
3 Notes from the Creative HeArts Team

Student & Faculty Submissions

6 States of Mind Zahur Fatima Sallman, MS1
7 Pink - Then and Now Emma Kaplan, MS1
8 MS1 Doodle Pad // Diagnosis Bea Tenorio, MS1
9 L15TEN Emily Miller, MS1
10 The Isolation of a Medical Student Ankur Vaidya, MS1
11 Am I? Emily Min, MS1
12 Letter to the Human Genome Project
13 Nabs Anatomy.02: Porta Hepatis Emmanuel Tito, MS1
14 True Love in a Smal Town Nabid Ahmed, MS1
15 Blossomed Breath Ben Bloom, MS4
16 [Untitled]
17 Mortality in NOLA Valerie Dawson, MS3
18 Ivory Model of Pregnant Woman 1700’s Shuna Gao, MS1
19 Through Their Eyes Beck Lee, MS2
20 Cancer Disparities Paintings
22 These Halls Dr. David Pumplin, Faculty
23 Untitled Adrienne Kambouris, MS1
24 Fearless Girl UMB Project CURE Scholars
25 Mindfulness
26 Losing Jessica Chaffkin, MS4
27 Pride of Baltimore Antanina Voit, MS2
28 As Step 1 Looms Anonymous, MS1
29 Hold On
Chelsea Alvarado, MS1
Neda Frayha, Faculty

Maureen Cassady, MS3
Hallene Guo, MS2

Saad Shamshair, MS1

4 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

for more submissions, including multimedia & videos,
please visit the Creative HeArts website at

CreativeHeartsUMB.wixsite.com/TheHealersArt

30 Casting Off Richa Manglorkar, MS2contents

31 Nutrient Man (Musings of MS1) Conan So & Orestes Mavrothalassitis, MS3

32 Anticipation & Tunnel Vision Pooja Patel, MS1

33 10 Seconds of Silence Anonymous, MS4

34 Portrait of a Pancreas Leah Schecter, MS2

35 Patient Perspectives Rutvij Pandya, MS1

36 The Corpus Callosum: A Natural Bridge

& Purkinje Dendritic Tree Landscape Katarina Vasiljevic, MS2

37 Unintimidated Brandon Hassid, MS2

38 Moving Toward the Clinical Years Conan So, MS3

39 Waiting in Ragtime Tim, MS1

40 When We Don’t Know the Answers Anonymous, MS1

41 Where They Play J.M. Blake, MS1

42 Letter to the Baby in Seat 13D Milton G., MS2

43 “I Don’t Think So, Miss Kamilia” Kamilia Butler-Peres, MS2

44 Open Church of Santa Klara Dr. David Pumplin, Faculty

45 A Mile in Your Shoes? Michael Sikorski, MS1

46 Gralf Michael Miller, MS2

49 Jesse Becky, MS2

51 Believing is Healing Sandra M. Quezada, Faculty

52 The Travel Ban Kamilia Butler-Peres, MS2

There is Hope J.M. Blake, MS1

54 The Tourist Jessica Chaffkin, MS4

55 B.More Progressive Claire Rosen, MS3

5The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

I paint for the thrill,
Of trying something new and teaching myself that it’s okay

to lose control.
To make mistakes and be untroubled by them,
despite the pressure to conform to the
medical student mold.
To reflect and wonder on the experiences that
brought me to medical school and still keep
me wanting to learn more.
To contemplate on the struggles of the patients
whose stories I reduce into an HPI, a write-up,
a presentation.

I paint and I become barely aware of time.

States of Mind
Zahur Fatima Sallman, MS1

Here are three of those paintings – each one a reflection
of one feeling or another in my journey as a medical student
- a conversation between mind, brush, and canvas; a way to

translate feeling when words simply fail.

6 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

I.

We gave it a proper pedaling
under the arches of spring, those
water-logged boughs of pink petals
ready to snow shelter the roads with the arrival
of a slight wind.

We dug our feet down again and again,
dirt-crusted knees spinning and smelling
of new leaves.
We pushed until we collapsed in the onion grass,
wiggling our backs into the loam,
chewing bunny dinner
in a pre-summer daze.

We will itch later. Pink - Then and Now
We will scratch inside Emma Kaplan, MS1
when the rain returns.
Until then, we will live under
pink sky and play pretend.

II.

Breathing is slow in the afternoon.
Tea grows cold, shedding peace
much unlike an onion, more
like golden leaves run brown.

Pink dusk is lighting the air.
Sunset shine blinds the windows.
I breathe again later
when the sky is slate.

I type one note at a time,
one thought an afternoon.
I have a pillowcase to fill
with feathered factoids
but I am running
out of room.

The pink is waiting again
for tomorrow
as am I.

7The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

MS1 Doodle Pad // Diagnosis
B. Tenorio, MS1

Displaced in the spaces where artwork by Rutvij Pandya
it is quiet
and all they want is to sleep
and all I want is to glean
their thoughts following
loose strings their cocoons left behind.
Caught in the gaps where
knowledge left- am I
unwanted company and they
amusement-
their discomfort my muse
as they recite their script
at times with flair, at times
with weariness.
Strange how our holes and voids
fill each other
and somehow we make something
from nothing, as they courteously
wish me off and I
sincerely wish them well.
Later that night I’m piecing together
the whispers their body lost
in translation.

8 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

L15TEN

Emily Miller, MS1

One of the most important parts
of being a good doctor is being a
good listener. This sketch, created
as a final project for the Humanism
elective, represents the importance
of listening and all it encompasses,
rather than simply hearing.
Languages included in this draw-
ing: Arabic, Chinese (simplified),
English, Farsi, French, German,
Hebrew, Hindi, Italian, Korean,
Romanian, Sinhala, Spanish, Urdu,
and Yoruba. Special thanks to peers
who provided language expertise.

9The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

The Isolation of a Medical Student
Ankur Vaidya, MS1

This is part three of my "Life of a Medical Student" series, giving an introspec-
tive documentation of my experiences along my journey into medicine. The first
two represented the mind and uncertainty of a medical student, respectively.
This piece is to represent how no matter how close we may all be to each other,

we still feel alone. Thus the isolation of a medical student.
The rest of my medical school series can be viewed online at
ankurvaidyaphoto.wixsite.com/shutterfinger/medical-school

10 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Am I? up a lot, caught in that red-handed “I don’t know and I
feel really embarrassed and I think I could have done/
Emily Min, MS1 said that better.” Followed by the inevitable: “How am
I ever going to be a ‘real’ doctor if I can’t even handle
this?” After class, I would lie in bed, feeling exhausted.

“I’m not crazy, am I?” I went to my first appointment at the student counsel-
It was a question delivered pleadingly by a woman I ing center with some trepidation. I had heard good
had just met: she came in because she was experienc- things about the counselors there, and was encouraged
ing palpitations. Even though her EKG, I was told, by the promises of confidentiality. Yet as I sat in the
looked normal, she pleaded that she couldn’t sleep waiting room, fidgeting, I wondered if I was going to be
at night. Her heart was beating out of her chest. Yes, laughed out of the office. My problems weren’t so bad
she drank a lot of caffeine. And a lot of alcohol too, as to warrant coming to a psychologist, were they? Was
sure. Was her life stressful? Yes, with a job like hers I going to be labeled as a typical medical student, or
and a family like hers, who wouldn’t be stressed? as someone who was just embarrassingly oversensitive?
At that point, she turned to me and posed her question. The psychologist ran through the list of intake ques-
I’m not proud of what I did next. Taken aback, I tions typical for a first-time visit. I sat and answered
gestured meaninglessly at my preceptor and said them to the best of my ability. Yes, sometimes I have
something to the effect of, “She’s the physician.” Al- trouble sleeping, but I’ve been trying to go to bed
though this didn’t seem to faze my questioner, who earlier. I haven’t really felt any palpitations, no... I
now turned expectantly to the “real doctor” beside don’t drink much caffeine. Alcohol – way less than
me, I began experiencing palpitations of my own. I did in college! (This was my attempt at a joke.)

It was the kind of anxiety-shame combination that you About half an hour in, I began to cry. I wasn’t crazy, was I?
feel when you’re caught raising your hand despite not The short answer, with which I’m coming to under-
knowing a question’s answer. Although nobody in the stand, is no. When you’re chronically stressed, I was told
room commented on my behavior, I spent a signifi- – and it doesn’t matter what’s stressing you – every little
cant amount of time reflecting on this interaction. I’m thing feels like something. And if you are feeling guilty
just a first-year medical student! I protested to myself, about your feelings and your behaviors, it compounds
later that night. I don’t know anything! But I was in that stress and that sensitivity. You’re supposed to, in a
the room, white coat on and stethoscope slung around nutshell, cut yourself a little slack. I’m not great at that.
my neck, taking notes as if I followed exactly what was This first year is almost over – it’s almost summer again.
happening. Sure, I didn’t have to pretend like I was a As everyone tells me, “There’s a lot more amazing things/
medical expert – I really am a first-year medical stu- knowledge/stress/lack of sleep in your future!” I guess
dent. But I didn’t have to drop the baton that the patient the important thing right now is to focus – but I don’t
extended to me, her eyes wide and afraid. It was a small mean on a tough lecture. I want to focus on the wonder-
incident that I’m making too much of – I tend to do ful people I’ve met. On the moments that have made me
that. But it is one in a multitude of experiences that have laugh so hard my sides ached. Or on the things that I’ve
left me feeling a little bit more confused about myself. learned and genuinely retained that make me marvel at
Feeling adrift in medical school is a common phenom- the practice of medicine. I want to recognize the uni-
enon – a statement that I think is obvious. And at first, versality of anxiety and self-doubt, and move forward.
the “adriftness” meant nothing. Everyone has a period As much as I still question myself, I want to be grateful
of adjustment! I was firmly in the average when it came for my unique experiences and acknowledge that I’m
to medical students! But as weeks passed, I began to no- learning from all of them. Next time, I’ll take a deep
tice things about myself – behaviors, actions, thoughts breath and remind myself of that. And maybe some-
– that I would never have expected. Many of them were time soon, I’ll pick up the baton, and both I and the
disappointing. I was being argumentative and irritable patient will have benefited. We should all be so lucky.
towards my family and friends. I found myself freezing

11The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Letter to the

Human Genome Project
Emmanuel Tito, MS1

I have been feeling like an intron recently.
Victim of U4/U6 complex splicing me out of the RNA
Like an intron I feel useless, like a noncontributing part of the mRNa
While living in the DNA but excluded of the cDNA
I could blame SLC24A5 gene for my less degradable melanin
Or my Broca’s Area in my brain for giving me this speech pattern called accent
Or the fact that when sequenced, I am blamed for errors in mRNA transcription
We Introns are always the cause of splicing errors leading to frameshift mutation
Superficially, we Introns are part of untranslated regions, useless after transcription processing
However we are part of the genomic library
We contain the TATA Box crucial for initiation of transcription
We contribute to the genetic diversity as single nucleotide polymorphism and shot tandem repeats
We are crucial for cell energy homeostasis, only splice out to conserve energy for other cell needs
As such we Introns demand and reclaim to be part of the cDNA library.

12 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Nabs Anatomy.02: Porta Hepatis
Nabid Ahmed, MS1

The meditation experience is not a competition. There is a definite goal. But there is no timetable.
What you are doing is digging your way deeper and deeper through the layers of illusion toward
realization of the supreme truth of existence. The process itself is fascinating and fulfilling. It can
be enjoyed for its own sake. There is no need to rush.
~ Henepola Gunaratana

13The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

True Love in a Small Town
Ben Bloom, MS4

“Good morning Mr. John, my name is Ben, I’m a medical student working with Dr. W, is it alright if I chat with
you for a bit?”
“Of course, nice to meet you! Where are you coming from?”
“Originally from Rockville, but going to school in Baltimore now.”
“That’s great, good for you!”
“So this is a routine 6 month check - up for you, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Is there anything you’d like to discuss specifically today?”
“Nope. Nothing bothering me today.”
“Well how have you been since you last saw Dr. W?”
“Getting better. My wife passed away in December.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“Oh it’s quite alright. It was her time. She was suffering - bad dementia. She was in a nursing home for the past
four years and pretty much non-verbal for the last two years.”
“I’m sure she has passed on to a better place. How have you been doing since she passed?”
“A lot better, actually. Those first few months were tough without her. I was so used to seeing her. For 4 years I
went to the home to see her 6 days a week. I would help bathe her, dress her, feed her. It was my routine for a
long time.”
“You sound like a very dedicated, loving husband. How long were you two married for?”
“60 years. I loved her ‘til the day she died, even though she wasn’t the same person, I knew deep down she still
was. I remember one time, after she had stopped speaking, I was helping her get dressed and I decided to pinch
her butt for old times sake. She turned to me, looked me right in the eye and says: ‘Stop it, John!’ I had my
woman back for just a moment.”
“That’s true love.”

14 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Blossomed Breath
Valerie Dawson, MS3

I made this sculpture last year as a way of expressing the my love for
both mature and medicine. Spending so much time inside the walls of
the hospital this past year during my third year clerkships has made the
two seem so separate from each other, but I find it is important to re-
mind myself to appreciate the beauty of the world around me. The quote
on the stand reads: “Wilderness reminds us what it means to be human,
what we are connected to rather than what we are separate from.”

15The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Shuna Gao, MS1

16 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Mortality in NOLA
Becky Lee, MS2

During break I went to the museum of death
At first we were met with familiar skeletons of Netters past
Even still the bodies torn apart took away our breath
After decapitation, laceration, asphyxiation, we decided to leave at last

The next day we went to see the grave of Madame leveau
Where the French diocese ensures rest in peace
The swamp waters rise up and with it the body parts go
A common theme arose, which was that our bodies are but a lease

We also learned quite a bit about life
so easily ended by yellow fever, accident, or heat
But enjoyed with drink, dance, and laughter rather than strife
So much fried chicken, catfish, crawfish (creepy!) To eat

Warm, laughing Nola I’m sad to detach
Perhaps we will meet again after the match!

(Photo by Janet Karanja)

17The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Ivory model of pregnant woman

1700’s, Nürnberg, Germany
Dr. David Pumplin, Faculty
German national museum

18 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Through Their Eyes
Adrienne Kambouris, MS1

During S&D, he said, “Keep pushing, Mommy!”
During CMB, she said, “You will win!”
During FS, she said, “But how does all that blood fit in your heart?”
During Neuro, he said the brain is, “the skin of the head.”

During MS1, she said, “I want to be a doctor.” 19
During MS1, she said, “I want to be a scientist.”
During MS1, he said, “I want to be a doctor.”
I do this for them.

The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

20 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

5

Cancer Disparities Paintings
by students of UMB Project CURE
The National Cancer Institute’s (NCI) Continuing the Umbrella for Research
Experiences (CURE) program was started to support underrepresented middle school
students as they explore their interests in various science and healthcare fields. They
created these paintings in conjunction with the research posters they presented on
cancer disparities within the African American community.

Photographs of paintings by Danielle Day (CURE mentor)

21The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

These Halls
Jessica Chaffkin, MS4

If I was her I would hate these halls
The same halls that held the echoes of my cries
My mind as empty and dark as where I stand
My cries blended with “he is gone”
And then the weight falls
My heart is an anvil
And I try to create a pulley with my tears
I squeeze my eyes tighter
Hoping they can alleviate my fears
But it is too much
And finally my body is pulled down
To the level of my heart

22 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Arteries of

the Uterus
Antanina Voit, MS2

Ileocecal Anatomy
Antanina Voit, MS2

Anatomy is often a student’s first introduc-
tion to the medical curriculum. Dissection
for students is made possible through the
selfless act of body donation. These draw-
ings, and others not shown, are my expres-
sions of gratitude and commemoration for
the persons who became donors. Their gen-
erosity made it possible for myself to learn
anatomy by dissection of a fellow human’s
body.

23The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Fearless Girl
Anonymous, MS1

Fearless girl Fearless girl they called her.
Fearless girl they called her. Fearless girl she was not.
Fearless girl she was not. The sun continued to scorch. She burned.
With her heart beating wildly, her lungs short of The bitter cold returned again and again. She
breath, she stood facing the bull. shivered.
Her hands firmly planted on her hips in an act of The rain would not let up. She cried.
defiance. She was tired.
Her back ramrod straight. She was scared.
Her gaze unwavering, staring directly at her She was hurting.
antagonist.
Her head held up proudly. But she kept her hands firmly planted on her hips.
All this in the hopes that she would portray a strength Her back ramrod straight.
that she did not have. Her gaze unwavering, staring directly at her
antagonist.
Fearless girl they called her. Her head held up proudly.
Fearless girl she was not. All in the hope that she would portray a strength that
Through the scorching heat of the summer days, she she did not have.
held her head up. Fearless girl they called her.
Through the bitterly cold winter nights, she held her Fearless girl she was not.
head up.
Through the pouring rain, she held her head up. -Anonymous (Oh, the irony)
Keep your chin up princess, or your crown slips.
Keep your chin up, lest you break your gaze.
Keep your chin up, don’t concede.

24 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Mindfulness
Chelsea Alvarado, MS1
25The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Losing “If I wake up and she’s not alive, I can’t imagine that.”
Neda Frayha, Faculty On the day of her death, I sat with her. Slowly her
breathing became loud, gasping, agonal. Eventually,
Her family brought her into the emergency depart- the breaths stopped. Her nurse wrapped a blood pres-
ment on a Monday night. Her breast cancer had spread sure cuff around her arm; the screen of the monitor
to her brain and spinal cord; she had lost her ability remained blank. I gently lifted her eyelids and saw her
to walk. She could no longer release her urine, which large, black pupils, dilated and fixed, not shrinking as
distended her bladder like a balloon. Her family was they should under bright light. I placed my stetho-
close at her bedside, two sons and a daughter in law. scope on her chest wall and heard silence. An act I do
She was just playing with her grandkids, they said. She every day, listening to a person’s heartbeat. The soft
had just traveled around the world. I was the doctor in thump-thump, thump-thump that reaches up from
charge of the team that would take care of her for the within the chest wall to meet my stethoscope. It was
next two weeks, which would be her last two weeks of lost.
life. We shared stories of family. I promised we would One of her sons did not believe she was dead. He lift-
take care of her. ed the sheet and gown off her chest to prove she was
There were more losses to come. Her right arm and breathing. He felt where her pulse once was to prove
leg grew limp from the tumor in her spinal cord. Her it was bounding. Her daughter in law detected move-
voice weakened to a whisper. She could no longer ment beneath the sheets. Cruelly, my patient’s hospital
swallow, so a thin plastic feeding tube snaked up her air mattress was slowly inflating and deflating, inflat-
nostril, down her throat and into her stomach. Her lips ing and deflating. Trying to prevent bed sores in a per-
became cracked. She begged for water, water that the son no longer living.
muscles of her throat and neck couldn’t swallow, water Death brings much paperwork. I filled out packets of
that might trickle down her airway and cause an in- forms and her death certificate. My team and I coordi-
fection to bloom inside her lungs. Her family brought nated details of body pickup with the hospital morgue.
sponge-tipped swabs swollen with water to her lips. Her family spoke with funeral homes and placed their
She devoured the drops of liquid, wrung each sponge cell phones to my ear so I could speak with transporta-
dry. She spent every day and night in the hospital bed, tion staff. In the end, when it was time to say goodbye,
her eyes closed. She deferred conversations about her one son and I shook hands, tears in both our eyes. Her
disease to her family. other son kept his back turned to me. I understand
We met with her sons to discuss the goals of her care. now how shattered he must have felt, how devastating
Medically, my team and I knew she was dying. Emo- this loss was to him. But at the time, I felt bruised and
tionally and spiritually, her family was not yet ready broken myself. The sight of his back stung.
to accept death. They shared how important it was for I returned to the office space where my team was
them to be strong, to fight until the end. They did not working. I started to tell the story of my goodbye with
wish to pursue comfort care, which would focus on her family, and my voice stuck in my throat. I blinked
relief and freedom from pain. They wished for any test back tears of sadness, frustration, exhaustion, loss. I
or treatment possible, if it meant prolonging her life. slowly put my coat on and gathered my things to go
“If I wake up and she’s alive, I’m okay,” one son said. home. My team had w orked so hard. I didn’t want to
lose my composure in front of them.

26 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Pride of Baltimore
Maureen Cassady, MS3
27The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

As Step 1 Looms
Hallene Guo, MS2

To all of my 2nd year class-
mates: Take a long, deep
breath before ascending the
Step 1 mountain. Gather
all the necessary tools be-
fore starting and trust that
they’re all you will need
to take you to the top. Stay
calm, study hard, and just
keep going. And whenever
you feel lost or alone among
the rocks and trees on your
way up, just turn your eyes
to the brilliant sky and re-
member that we are all look-
ing up at the same one. 3rd
year awaits. Peace and good
wishes on your own person-
al journey! See you on the

other side ^__^

28 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Hold On
Saad Shamshair, MS1
202 Steps
Inside our very own Washington Monument is a staircase
that leads to the top. As you start your climb, you walk
into this sign, reminding you how quickly you’ve ascend-
ed and how much further you still have to go. All I know
is, it’s going by incredibly fast.

Lessons from Scrub(s)

There was smoke in the air before,
that was me clearing it.
That felt good.

All in all, I learned a lesson from it though.
You never see it coming,
you just get to see it go.

Sunset

No matter where we
are in life, we can take
solace in the fact that we
all are seeing the same

setting sun, day after
day.

29The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Casting Off I first started knitting when I was in high school. Since then, it
Richa Manglorkar, MS2 has been one of my favorite ways to relax and decompress after a long
day, which became essential after starting medical school. When I first
moved for medical school, my apartment was in the middle of downtown
Baltimore and I walked to school every day. Two things that always reso-
nated with me during those walks were how many homeless individuals
I passed and how much colder a Maryland winter was compared to those
back home in Texas.
I decided early in my first year of medical school to reach out
to a community knitting group called Knitting Neighborhoods Together.
The group’s goal is to make as many hats, scarves, and mittens as possible
and distribute them to local groups like Healthcare for the Homeless. It
was the perfect combination: a way to knit my MS1 worries away and
know that I helped people in need. Prior to finding this wonderful group,
I tried on multiple occasions to directly give one of my knitted goods to
the homeless. Only one person ever accepted an item, one brown, slight-
ly scratchy, bowl-shaped hat. It may not have been a greatly successful
endeavor in terms of numbers, but it still makes me smile to know that
someone out there is a little warmer on a winter night. With Knitting
Neighborhoods Together, I made at least a dozen hats over the course of
my first year in medical school.
As second year came around, I realized that I had less time to
knit hats and needed to change to smaller scale projects. That is when
I found the national group, Warm Up America!, which accepts various
knitted and crocheted items including 7in X 9in rectangles. The donated
rectangles are later assembled into large patchwork blankets by the or-
ganization. Warm Up America! became the perfect way for me to keep
up with the MS2 curriculum and still find time for a hobby that I love. I
have made 36 rectangles for the organization. The pieces that are featured
here were all made with various yarn colors and textures using a crochet
technique. My goal moving forward is to make over 100 rectangles before
the end of my third year.
Photo Credit: Brandon Hassid, MS3

30 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Nutrient Man (Musings of MS1)
Conan So and Orestes Mavrothalassitis, MS3s
Examiners love to go after this. High yield nutrient
information from MS1 Biochemistry.

31The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Anticipation
Pooja Patel, MS1

Tunnel Vision
Pooja Patel, MS1

32 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

10 Seconds of Silence
Anonymous, MS4

I’m feeling hollow today
Trapped
in the empty Carcass. That once was a human.
Still Is Human. Or some semblance of it.
He came here from Guatemala.
Seeking
Fleeing, possibly
Only to become brain dead.
10 seconds
That was the moment of
Silence
Organs then harvested.
I see the silver lining. 8 lives saved.
But he deserved more.
I said “Gracias” but felt the echo
Reverberate
Through his empty thoracoabdominal cavity
I hope he heard me.

33The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Portrait of a Pancreas
Leah Schecter, MS2

34 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Patient Perspectives
Rutvij Pandya, MS1

Re-creations of paintings by Thomas Eakins, Pablo Picasso & Daumier
from the patient perspective
Ink & Marker

(Originals on left, my drawings on right)

35The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

The

Corpus
Callosum:
A Natural Bridge

Katarina Vasiljevic, MS2

Purkinje Dendritic Tree Landscape
Katarina Vasiljevic, MS2

36 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Unintimidated
Brandon Hassid, MS2
37The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Moving Toward the Clinical Years
Conan So, MS3

38 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Waiting in

Ragtime
Tim, MS1

I wrote this while waiting to
get into med school. It is an

okay jingle.

39The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

When We Don’t Know the Answers
Anonymous, MS1

Take me back to when
the flames jumped as high as I was on your shoulders,
it felt like i could touch the stars.
We danced intoxicated to the vibrating notes
that echoed through the trees,
the fields were our home that summer.
Take me back to when
I etched my every feeling into blank sheets of paper
the best form of expression I have ever known.
Take me back to when
the darkness meant freedom
and I cried because of the unknown of what was to come.
Twenty-two years old, sheer post-exam joy and new friends
means late nights and ski shots.
The blank sheets I used to bring alive are reality now.
I am suffocated by the reality of it,
but in the rare moments where I see my life for what it is,
prince charming in a golf cart
4 way family calls
and winner hugs
a lab full of cadavers
and
dreams coming true.
Don't take me back,
I am fine, more than fine, perfect,
right where I am.

40 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Where They Play
J.M. Blake, MS1

A humbling reminder of what lies behind even our smallest of patients.
- Scene shot in West Baltimore while neighborhood canvassing.

41The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Letter to the Baby in Seat 13D
Milton G., MS2

Dear Unknown Child,
I’m sorry I couldn’t make the world a better place for you.
That you will understand hatred before you know how to speak.
That you will know violence before you have the coordination to ball a fist.
That you will understand inequality before knowing equality.
I’m sorry little girl that you will be validated based solely on your appearance.
That your self-worth will be measured by a thumbs-up on a photo.
That men will follow you, harass you, and try to break you down.
That they won’t hear your no, especially when you don’t feel empowered enough to say it.
I saw something when you looked at me; it wasn’t bad but just a curiosity. Those big round eyes
gazed into my being and compelled me to want to do better. Time is too limited, too precious, and
yet, I don’t yearn for more of it, just to make the most of it. I am a product of pain, of sorrow, of
times forgone but gone enough. Yet, you highlighted one of the best parts of me -- hope.
I hope that scripture will not be a substitute for decency.
I hope the red and blue clouds of clout can bring about purple rain.
I hope that she, he, and they can just be.
I hope that you can be the generation that no longer has to say: “I’m sorry”.
I just hope I am not asking for too much.

Sincerely,
The man from 14C

42 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

He was seven when he told me he was going to grow up to be a junky.
A junky,
When he wasn’t even near the junction of adolescence, let alone adulthood.
As he spoke, his radiant eyes looked exhausted.
He peeled off his bright smile
And handed me back the mask of childhood that I had unwittingly put on him when we first met.
I looked down at the mask, and
Silently prayed for it to become a map that could lead him away from his resignation.
I took his hands in mine, and
The fabric of the life I so desperately wanted for him interdigitated between our fingers.
As it turned to dust, I pleaded,
“You are brilliant. You can do anything you dream. You can be anything you want.”
He shook his head.

“I Don’t Think So, Miss Kamilia”
Kamilia Butler-Peres, MS2

43The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Open Church of Santa Klara,

Nürnberg Germany
Dr. David Pumplin, Faculty

A reflection on tragedies in the world, and that medical science
sometimes doesn’t work. I find comfort in this:
“And doesn’t God (papa) cry too sometimes, when He looks upon us
- to the memory of a dead drug user”
Habib Bektaş, a Turkish writer, journalist and literary translator
publishing in Germany and Turkey
Inscription in graveyard of the Open Church of Santa Klara,
Nurenbrg, Germany (jointly Catholic and Protestant)

44 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

“Judge not your brother,
Walk a mile in his shoes.
You see he’s doing the best
That he can do,
Like me and you”

-Eric Bibb

“People don't realize when you lose “I made a lot of bad decisions in life. “I’m lucky to know my name. My
your mother and get evicted, it’s re- This is the result of mine and I am brain swelled past the capacity of
ally hard, but you have to keep things living to learn and learning to live. the skull. I was paralyzed for several
months. They said I’d never walk
going. For someone in my shoes, anything again, but I told the doc I’d walk out
I want nobody to walk in my shoes. I helps.” of there, and that’s what I did.
don’t wish this on nobody.”
- Haroy I think they’d probably kick them

- Roy off real fast.

- Gary

A Mile in Your Shoes?
Michael Sikorski, MS1

45The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

Gralf ted and watched, but like a cloud there was an undeni-
Michael Miller, MS2 able emptiness in their stare, a wispiness of sorts that
like a cloud left them open to be blown and buffeted
No more bananas. by the wind. The ability of their environment to so
Week in, week out. He was starting to dream about totally shape them detracted depth from their char-
them. They would slither like fat, sun-touched ana- acter and seemed to make them inextricably attached
condas after him; fly through the air to stab him like to and part of their surroundings. If the other gorillas
a toucan whose mother was sick of her hippies child- were clouds to be spotted blowing across the sky, then
species’ appearance but lacked the creativity to pro- Gralf would be a colorful parrot beating his way across
duce more than a monochromatic freak who attacked it. His action is directed; the parrot is affected by the
handsome gorillas (out of spite, really); or turn into wind but it does not shape him. His corporeal and in-
the trees limbs he would rest on and shake him to the dependent qualities reflect a more extensive depth of
ground from fearful heights. his character, a depth most obviously seen in the men-
tal separation between him and all the other gorillas
Gralf (this was the noise other gorillas in his troop in his troop.
had come to make when they wanted his attention)
had had enough. He committed himself to not eat- The gorillas around him were not pondering,
ing any more bananas until the scary things that hap- as he was, but were fully absorbed in the task of bug-
pened to him at night - the ‘nightmares’ - had stopped. picking. Hand to bug, hand to mouth, bug to stom-
Hunger, as he was soon acutely aware, was utterly in- ach; repeat. He could not consult any of his fellows
different to any kind of mental resolution, and he real- for guidance or advice. The troop’s contentedness with
ized that another food source was necessary. To clear eating bananas was absolute; they would have nothing
his mind he brought up an old practice that had rather to say, and they could offer no help. If he didn’t want
caught on with the others - eating insects out of one bananas anymore he would have to not want bananas
of his friend’s back-hair. He was never sure why he alone. All these thoughts and his focus on food were
started this; it just seemed like some menial task he making him more and more aware of how much he
could use to engage his hands and mouth that left the needed to eat. He had no ideas though. The only food
rest of him free to ponder. It is important here to point he had ever eaten was the banana. As he pondered
out that while a couple of the type of grubs could have what to do for a couple more minutes he lazily picked
a satisfying crunch to them, the act of bug-picking a few more bugs off his friend. After several success-
does not constitute a meal and can be called, at best, ful crunches he realized that the answer had been in
a light snack. Gralf ’s digestion, then, was not so much his mouth the whole time - bugs. But how would this
gastric as mental, because the issue of what to replace work? he thought. Even if I picked bugs off every mem-
bananas with had a stronger need to be broken down ber of my troop I would not have enough to eat. There
that anything else at the moment. must be another way to get bugs. Think. Think. When
the little ones play in the dirt on the jungle floor all day
He looked around at some of the other members long they always come back with lots of bugs in their
of his troop. Several of them had started bug-picking hair. So I shall start my search there.
as well. Mon- gorilla-see-gorilla-do- careful now.
Gralf observed them. Their frontal lobes were just as His stomach moaned louder than the tree branch
developed as his, they had the same features - faces, he was on as he swung down towards the jungle
hands, arms, legs, feet, trunk, and hair. The difference floor. There he watched. These bugs must come from
was the expression on their faces. Looking at them somewhere, and I shall discover where. Before long he
was like looking at a cloud. Clouds can easily be spot- noticed something; what looked like a long, wind-
ing snake travelling through the dirt turned out to

46 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

be a long line of bugs when seen from closer. These However, these ancient peoples were not
ex-scales were, in fact, large black ants trekking way around for centuries after Gralf. Even if they had been
across the jungle floor. If I eat them all as they go by they would have been no use because no myths were
it will be much more filling than grooming my friends, ever created starring an anthill, which is exactly what
he said to himself, but even then I will still be hungry - our gorilla was presently starring at.
there must be a better way. I know, I’ll follow these ones, Like any good, self-preserving caboose, Gralf
and they will bring me to many more. The world’s larg- jumped track when he realized the tunnel the rest of
est (relatively speaking) caboose was soon cho-choing the train was entering was not mammal friendly. He
its way down an earthen track after what (it hoped) viewed the anthill with skepticism; something about
would be a promising meal. it made him nervous and fearful. It was a large and
Having never travelled far from his troop’s ter- unknown structure, the thing itself might as well be
ritory, as it was dangerous for the jungle holds many alive, as Gralf reckoned, as it is teeming with so much
ill-meaning inhabitants, and, other gorilla troops’ wel- activity. He circled around it from what he deemed
come mats are usually laid out as prevalently as nutri- a ‘safe’ distance to see what else he could discover. It
tional information is stamped on a banana peel, Gralf looks the same no matter what side I look at it from,
had never seen a mountain. He had heard one time, he regretfully noted, I have learned nothing new about
from one of the old gorillas who was not born in their it. The ants were totally unaware of Gralf ’s presence.
territory, that a mountain is a great mound of earth Besides their vision being limited to the quality of a
piled up high. Helen Keller sketch in her realist period, ants are an
It is celestial ordure. Proof that Mother Earth extremely focused bunch, and something about focus
herself could not avoid teen pregnancy- that the life and periphery doesn’t quite jive. The birds, watching
she created came about when she was still in her ac- Gralf watching the ants focusing on their anthill busi-
ne-marked adolescence. Sometimes the life forms she ness, have no comment.
creates irritate her delicate façade to the point of pop- After an extended tussle with fear, the victor
ping one of her prodigious pimples. In fact, the word Hunger prodded Gralf ’s soft (and empty) belly to the
lava is derived from a word belonging to a prehistoric edge of the anthill. As the rest of his body followed,
and long forgotten ancestor of the Japanese people Gralf soon began snagging some of the large black
meaning sebum. According to their myth (which is ants that wandered within his cautious reach. The first
survived by a lone shaman living in a yurt on the Mon- bites were glorious - these ants were plump and juicy,
golian steppes) the Sun and the Moon both vied for but with enough texture to dodge the words squishy
Young Earth’s orbit. The Sun was chosen as the Earth’s and any of squishy’s synonymous friends. If Gralf had
mate, but the spurned suitor, Moon, could never re- ever eaten ripe blackberries he might have made an
cover from rejection and lingered in vain attempt to apt comparison, but as he had not, he was content to
haunt her forever. The Sun still chuckles at humanity’s just sit and munch unfortunate passers-by.
interest in his seminal fluid - giving it fancy names Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, two
like ‘electromagnetic radiation’ and studying it for ex- lumps prompted Gralf to leave the anthill and make
orbitant amounts of time. While he did think (in not back for his troops territory. Several hundred ants,
too humble a way) that impregnation via aether was a making him appear pregnant with distension, consti-
slick idea, the fact that his, well, children, amused him tuted lump number one. The second lump was the Sun
so makes him feel successful as a parent and causes sinking over the edge of Earth’s gentle curve - signal-
him to continue sending them ‘samples’ for research. ing to Gralf that it was time to head back or risk biv-
ouacking in unfamiliar territory. Our gorilla did not
know that the earth was round;

47The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017

neither did he think it was flat and had edge to fall I liked the idea of eating ants more than I ac-
off. He was not sure what he thought of the matter. tually enjoyed eating them, and that’s why they tasted
Assuming it was too big to make a difference however better! Ha! I have it. But what is so appealing about the
he thought about it, he spent little time pondering the idea of eating ants? I did not really want to eat ants as
morphology of the planet, instead he occupied him- much as I did not want to eat anymore bananas. Gralf
self with things more at home to him - other animals, was not sure why he was able to be so honest about
trees - water was particularly fascinating to him. Any- things all of a sudden, but, as it goes, so it goes.
ways, he erred on the side of caution and wandered So what is so wrong about bananas? I have eat-
back to where he called home. en them for almost all of my life without fuss. They have
His walk back was pleasant. It might have been everything I need in them. I like how they taste. Is this
the satisfaction, because he was enormously satisfied just a matter of overkill - had I simply eaten too many
with himself, or the full belly, or the perfect weather, and therefore needed something else? But I know this
but Gralf was very pensive on his walk back. He was is wrong. I had not eaten too many, and any need of
thinking about his day, specifically his ant adventure. something else was artificial, in that I created the need.
After a period of light rumination a thought suddenly Some call this a want; the stubborn still call it a need.
popped into his head, I think those ants tasted better And I can be a baby - the dreams were not that bad and
than they probably did. It was a strange thought and not as numerous as I made them sound. I might offer
he was not sure where it came from, but it needled the dreams as an excuse for my behavior, but as cause,
him and refused to sink out of his head. It was an un- no. The only pretext I would give dreams as the reason
comfortable thought, but given that it refused to be would be for pity.
brushed away, and he was in jolly enough a mood that But why would I want pity? How could I be at-
he was sure it could not bring him down, he decided tracted to pity? It is generally assumed that one must be
to give it some scrutiny. in a deplorable situation to be pitied, and who would
It implied that he was exaggerating his praise really want that? It is the attention! The pitiful state is
of the ants. But why would I do that? Exaggeration pro- something that sets you apart, and you get attention be-
duced skepticism, and skepticism spread like a virus. cause of it, because it sets you apart. Of course, someone
His satisfaction was soon infected. This made him an- seeking pity can never truly put themselves in a deplor-
gry. As one is usually content with being content, he able state, because the seeker seeks attention and not the
quickly viewed his thought, the object of contention, true negative state.
with scorn. An emotional response like this pointed Pity is not the only thing that creatures act weird
to ego involvement. But why would my ego break my for. There are all kinds of ways creatures try to divert at-
satisfaction, and what is my ego doing in my tongue? tention. The thread of commonality that knits all these
By now the giddy satisfaction that marked his behaviors together is uniqueness. We seek to differentiate
walk was replaced with somber speculation. While ourselves, for the sake of attracting attention or for the
his arms and legs found the journey from the anthill sake of protecting individual identity, through the pur-
straightforward and comfortable, given the soft dirt suit of uniqueness. I actually like bananas. Black ants
paths he had to follow, his head found the journey are a definite second-best, but I still sought them out
akin to fighting through dense foliage, ridden with and enjoyed them to boot. I like to think I am the only
brambles and obstacles. If the ants really did not taste rational actor, the smartest and most intelligent gorilla.
as good as I thought, why, why, would I perceive it that But I am not alone. I am not so different from my fel-
way? The reason he was having difficulty answering lows. If I think of myself as that, however- I am unique!
this question was because he could not give up trying I sought to eat something other than bananas because
to rationalize an acceptable response. It was difficult. every other gorilla just eats bananas. I discovered a way

48 The Healer’s Art ◆ 2017