White Coat Reflections - Class of 2020

White Coat Reflections

November 4, 2016

Between these pages are a collection of reflections on the first ten weeks of
medical school. The creative works are from first year medical students in
the Class of 2020 and a few of their professors at the University of Maryland,
School of Medicine. It represents our first effort to create an inclusive outlet
of expression where common ground can organically develop between
students, faculty, and our families. Everyone in our class was invited to

submit a piece of work in any form of visual and expressive art.
We hope you enjoy them.

Michael Sikorski & Zahur Fatima Sallman
University of Maryland, School of Medicine

Class of 2020

Thank you Dr. Neda Frayha and Katy Eslami for your unwavering support.

Table of Contents Cover
1
Why Must We Cut? by Michaella Reif 2
Triptych: “Life in Death,” by Rutvij Pandya 3
Professor Can You Help Us? by Anonymous 4
Mind of a Medical Student by Ankur Vaidya 5
More by Anonymous 6
More Blankets by Anonymous 7
The Cast of Gray’s Anatomy by Ankur Vaidya 8
The Secrets Inside Us by Zahur Fatima Sallman 9
Optic Canal by Nabid Ahmed
Our First Patient by Abby Goron 10
Staying Present by Zofia Kozak 11
Finding a Balance by Chelsea Alvarado 12
Impossible is Possible by Aloise Diedrich 13
Gross Anatomy Lab: A Limerick by Maddie 14
McGlincy Uncertain Med Student by Saad Shamshair 15
Anatomical Debt by Emily Min 16
A Letter to My Brother by Anonymous 17
Yellow by Michael Sikorski 18
California Condor on Bridge by Dr. David Pumplin 19
From my heart… by Dr. Diana LaPasha 20
Anatomy Reflections by Dr. Brett Clark



1 Triptych: “Life in Death”

Rutvij Pandya, MS1

Although all my lab group knew about our donor was “85 y.o. female” with a litany of cardiovascular
complications, I wanted to depict our connection with her. We don’t know what she looked like but this

is how I imagine the five of us with her during her last days, from roughly the same viewpoint in a
different setting. We are very fortunate to have had this opportunity as we begin our education
To our donor and her family, thank you.

Professor, Can You Help Us?

Anonymous, MS1

8 AM “I…I think I see something.”
“I’m scared to touch it.” “What is it?”
“He’s not an it, he’s a he.” “I don’t know.”
“Okay, well I’m not starting.” “It looks too big to be an artery.”
“Okay, I don’t want to either.” “Yeah, maybe it’s an abnormality.”
“Let’s read the instructions first.” “Yeah, it’s got to be.”
“Where are they?” “Professor, can you help us?”
“Professor, can you help us?”
11 AM
8:15 AM “I can’t believe we found an artery.”
“Wait, don’t we need a scalpel?” “It was so much bigger than I thought.”
“Yeah I think so… Does anyone know how to “I know!”
put the blade on?” “Let’s go for something harder now.”
“No.” “How about a nerve?!”
“Be careful! You almost stabbed my eye out.” “Okay!”
“Sorry.” “What do they look like?”
“Professor, can you help us?” “…”
“Professor, can you help us?”
9 AM
“Are you doing it?” 12 PM
“I think so” “That nerve was so awesome!”
“I don’t want to look.” “I know, I want to find another one!”
“Okay, but I don’t know what I’m doing.” “Can I have the scalpel now?”
“I think you’re ruining it!” “Maybe we should get another scalpel?”
“Professor, can you help us?” “I want a turn!”
“Me too!”
9:15AM “Can we all work at once?”
“Okay, I’m going to look now.” “Professor, can you help us?”
“Is that a muscle?”
“Yeah.” 2 PM
“I can’t believe they look so red!” “Wow, today was crazy.”
“I know, what muscle do you think it is?” “I know, I can’t believe this was only our first
“I don’t know. It’s definitely an arm muscle.” day.”
“I mean the name of the muscle!” “It feels like we were in there forever.”
“Oh.” “Yeah, and it smells like we were too.”
“Professor, can you help us?” “I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Me neither.”
10 AM “See you tomorrow, professor.”
“I think I’m ready for a turn now.”
“Okay.” 2

The Mind of a Medical Student

Ankur Vaidya, MS1

This is the first piece of an upcoming introspective series documenting the life of a medical student
as I experience it.
3

More

Anonymous, MS1
Years of anticipation of working with a cadaver were finally met. I gingerly took the first
slice into the back, and it was the start of a relationship that would involve more than I could have
imagined.
The overall class began as a response to the intrigue that I have always had for the human
body. The first few mornings, I woke up eager, knowing that there was more to discover…
Eagerness quickly digressed, much like the right umbilical vein, as more vessels, more
nerves, and more muscles were introduced while I was still becoming comfortable saying
“posterior” instead of “on the back.” Fascination was being buried under stress and layers of fascia
that were, in reality, beautifully interconnected, but seemed for a while to be only more to
memorize.
There was yet more to come, but before turning my cadaver over again, I had to turn over
this narrow focus that was weighing down my drive. My cadaver had become nothing more than
a kind resource for learning, but she was much more -- She was my patient, my first patient, first
of many to come. God forgive me for letting stress overwhelm this truth for more than one day!
Similarly, life is more than succeeding in anatomy or achieving our career goals. There is a deeper
purpose for overcoming the stresses of studying than just becoming a physician, because I, like all
people, am more than just a working organism. The foundation for my drive to continue working
hard was based on a desire to serve my fellow humans. The honor of bringing goodness, healing,
and love to other people, whether they are my patients or not, is worth every sacrifice and struggle
it takes to learn more.

4

More Blankets

Anonymous, MS1
On my last day of orientation prior to my first day of medical school, I shadowed an older medical
student and resident at the hospital. The room was frigid; my icy fingertips searched for pockets

that did not exist along the seams of my skirt. As the fourth year medical student concluded his
interview, I asked the patient if he would like a warm blanket. He nodded gratefully. The medical

team exited the room and I asked the resident where to find a blanket for this patient. His
disgruntled response spoke volumes: this is not your job.

This is my job. I refuse to lose sight of the person in front of me between the olecranon of
the ulna and the repeating rounds of the Krebs cycle.
More blankets.

“In memory of Dr. Rhonda S. Fischel, a gifted physician and treasured mentor.”

5

The Cast of Gray’s Anatomy

Ankur Vaidya, MS1

Anatomy was a journey, and our achievement is not based off of the efforts of an individual, but
the collective effort of our team. This image is an appreciation for the collaborative nature of our

lab group, and our MS1 cohort as a whole, which allowed us all to make it through anatomy.
6

The Secrets Inside Us

Zahur Fatima Sallman, MS1

Humans are similar, yet unique – a realization that is both beautiful and incredibly frustrating
7

Optic Canal

Nabid Ahmed, MS1

“Your vision will become clear only when you can look into your own heart.
Who looks outside, dreams; who looks inside, awakens.” ~ Carl Jung
8

Our First Patient

Abby Goron, MS1

Cutting a rib cage off with a bone saw is a much more exciting way of waking up in the
morning than my usual coffee. It’s exhilarating. But I feel guilty for being excited to cut another
being. To so easily rip out vital portions of flesh that once housed a beating heart, emotions, and
an entire person’s world. Is it wrong to feel this way? Will it make me a bad doctor? What am I
supposed to feel?

Anatomy lab was an indescribable experience. That being said, it is also an experience
which challenges your psyche. I will never forget the first glance at my donor, as my group
unshrouded her. She was pristine and untouched. Now, add several twenty-something-year-old
medical students and ten weeks to the equation, and it’s almost impossible to recognize her. Her
abdominal organs are gone, most skin peeled away, skull cut and brain removed. It’s difficult to
make out what was once a person—what I too would look like from the inside out.

The difficulty grows when you realize that you aren’t consciously cherishing every second
of what the donor has given themselves for. You get frustrated because you can’t find the elusive
auriculotemporal nerve. Someone gets “cadaver juice” on themselves by mistake, so you laugh a
little bit. You get so engrossed in the moment of a dissection that you lose yourself and forget that
you’re taking a blade to another human. You do what you have to do to finish the lab, find what
you need to, and go home to study it all. It’s easy to forget to appreciate.

But there is so much to appreciate and a mystery to unravel. We have discovered, piece by
piece, someone’s life in the puzzle of dissection, which is truly a gift. Not only are we searching for
the structures on our checklist, but for anatomical relics of someone’s life that they left behind for
us to find. Even in science, humanity can be found, in which we can truly know our donors. As we
dissected, we revealed each donor’s individual story which I desperately wanted to know more
about—a baseball-sized cystic tumor in my cadaver’s pelvis, an abdominal aortic aneurysm one
table over. An undigested pill in the stomach or heavily worn articular cartilage in the shoulder
joint. It’s a narrative of disease and suffering. A reminder that our donors are human. We are
human. And they gave themselves willingly for us to concurrently tear them apart, but put
together the pieces of their life.

When I look back on this course, I can’t deny that I will easily recall its challenges— trying
to drink from a fire hydrant is an accurate analogy for adjusting to the information overload. But, I
will always remember fondly and with gratitude not just my donor, but all of the donors, who
helped me to develop a strange, yet perfect blend of vigilance and empathy. Enough vigilance to
be comfortable literally chiseling away at a skull forcefully without running from the room, but
enough empathy to struggle with it, yet respect their sacrifice, their pain, their lives, and in death,
what they selflessly gave to enable us to become better doctors.

9

Staying Present

Zofia Kozak, MS1
The novelty subsides.
Even the new scalpel blades,
freshly removed from their packaging
are tainted with familiarity
(noticing)

Taking its place: a knotted stomach;
acclimating to demands
that are overwhelming our capacity.
(noticing)

Breathe.
We are able to welcome the challenge
with a defiant glint in our eye.
(noticing)

Hours, days, weeks brush past us.
(Ten of them)
The cobalt night sky,
an invitation for tomorrow to unfold…
The days continue
whether (or not) we
notice

Let us keep close,
Cradle, ensconce,
the idea that our next four years
are a linear mosaic
of singular moments,
waiting to be noticed.

10

Finding a Balance

Chelsea Alvarado, MS1

11

Impossible is Possible

Aloise Diedrich, MS1

“It always seems impossible until it is done.”

-Nelson Mandela

The first year, especially the first class, of medical school is an unforgettable time in every
physician’s life. Most doctors will express strong feelings of some type if they are reminded of
their first year. The first class was a time of an enormous amount of change for me. I had never
dissected anything (human or otherwise) prior, and I had to learn and relearn how to study
effectively several times during the semester (and I’m still not sure I got it right!). Starting medical
school has been the most difficult experience I have ever had in my whole life by far, both
physically and mentally.

When you are in lab, it feels like one of those blurry parts of a TV show: the time flies by as
you try to conquer the insanely long checklist of anatomical features that you must find. It feels
very much like a hazing ritual, which entails spending countless hours in lab trying to jam as
much anatomical relationships into your head as possible, getting unknown fluid and tissue on
your scrubs and yourself, and (the best part) reeking of embalming fluid for the rest of the day, to
the extent that the other students and faculty all know who the first-years are purely by smell.

I will never forget my experience in the gross anatomy lab – my lab groupmates, the rest of
my colleagues, and faculty. I could not have asked for a better team, even though we were almost
always one of the last groups in labs because we took our time! (Shout out to John, Emily, Zofia,
and Dan!) I can honestly say I have never enjoyed working in a group setting more, and I will miss
seeing your faces in lab every day.

I am very grateful that we could share this time with each other and most of all, our donors,
who are truly our first patients. While it is easy to become frustrated or complacent on a daily
basis when trying to dissect and memorize the smallest intricacies and branching patterns, we
remind ourselves that these were people with lives and stories that we will never know. But we do
know that they believed in the future of medicine – in us – enough to give us themselves to learn.
While we never knew them in life, we owe them a huge deal because they have taught us the
foundations of our future practices. We know that a large percentage of what we learn in medical
school will change or not be relevant by the time we graduate, but these donors have taught us
unwavering anatomy that we will carry with us for the rest of our lives. We have explored parts of
these people that we will most likely never seen of anyone else again. Holding a human brain in
your (almost) bare hands or being elbow deep in a human thoracic cavity is something very few
people say they have done. I am so glad that I have survived (because it really does feel like
survival) and had amazing friends and family members to support me through the tears, laughter,
and craziness that is the beginning of medical school. And above all, thanks to “Stan.” The
impossible is possible, after all.

12

Gross Anatomy Lab: A Limerick

Maddie McGlincy, MS1

I arrived to anatomy lab eager for a view
Wearing my fresh new scrubs of powder blue

Only to leave with an atrocious smell
As another whispered “welcome to hell”
And I later found human flesh on my shoe

We sawed through the process that was spinous
Just to catch a glimpse of the cauda equinas
We fully removed the auricle
In an event that felt historical

And even slipped a finger in the transverse sinus

Branch by branch, we moved up the external carotid
And traced out the duct that belonged to parotid
You can’t forget the nerve named phrenic
Or that super coiled artery that is splenic
Wasn’t it fun to clean the vessels that were clotted?

We traced the inferior alveolar nerve to the teeth
And found carotid, jugular and vagus all in a sheath

We removed the skull to see the meningeal vein
Traveling within the dura mater membrane
And there sat the brain, hiding underneath

It felt so long ago that we found the cord spermatic,
Or tagged the massive nerve that is sciatic
I can now identify the jugular foramen

But cannot describe it in terms that are layman
Damn, I’ve become quite the anatomy fanatic

I was amazed to see the folds of the vocal cord
But never again do I want to touch my clipboard

Can you still name the parts of the humerus?
Or the muscles of the foot--there were numerous!
We’ve all certainly earned this white coat reward

I’m not sure that I’ll ever recover my hygiene
And I’ve developed a heavy addiction to caffeine

I still can’t find that artery that is lingual,
And yet, I hope you’ve enjoyed this jingle
Here’s a special shout-out to table nineteen

13

Uncertain Med Student

Saad Shamshair, MS1

"I thought I was interested in uncertainty, but now I'm not so sure."
14

Anatomical Debt

Emily Min, MS1

This past summer, I read a book called On Immunity by Eula Biss. As it chronicled the
history of vaccination, I found myself coming back to a phrase that Biss uses in an early passage:
“We owe each other our bodies.” While she was describing the idea of herd immunity, she pulled
back to touch on other concepts: organ donation, anonymous social service, the interconnectedness
between strangers.

As we first years have moved through the 10 weeks of anatomy, the phrase has popped into
my head on more than one occasion. “We owe each other our bodies.” When scalpel first touched skin
(sorry, “epidermis”) on my lab group’s donor body, when the intestines were memorably
removed and gingerly put on a plastic tray, when we tugged away the cloth covering our donor’s
previously hidden face, I wondered if our mysterious, nameless stranger knew what his earthly
form was in for after his death. Did he – or any of our benefactors – know that we would scrunch
up our faces as we exposed more and more of their muscles and organs? That we would crack
jokes in progressively more macabre situations? What made them decide to pass over a traditional
burial, what made them give themselves up to the mistakes and mishaps of inexperienced – some
would say clueless – students? When these men and women effectively forfeited ownership of
their bodies to a group of strangers, what were they thinking?

Anatomy is over now. The plastic trays are put away, the hemostats are clean, and our
donors have finished their course as our guiding resources. I now believe that when these men
and women signed the forms to give their bodies to science, they felt some obligation to teach.
Maybe they wanted to provide some bright-eyed, bushy-tailed student with a fountain of often-
overwhelming information. Maybe they wanted to stump an anatomy professor with the twists
and turns of their unpredictable, corporeal story. Either way, I’m forever thankful. For some
reason, these donors felt that they owed us their bodies. I owe to them the devotion of my body,
mind, and spirit to a lifetime in medicine. To these donors I owe myself to the patients I will meet
in my career.

15

A Letter to My Brother

Anonymous, MS1

Dear Little Brother,

I have officially completed the first course of the first year of medical school. Can you
believe it? I can’t! As I sit back and reflect on the past three months, I would like to share three
specific moments that have had a great impact on me.

Josh - we buried you on August 2nd; on August 11th, I had the first day of orientation for
medical school. Although I was still smarting from the fresh pain of your recent death I did feel
excited – sort of – to be there. As I sat on those hard wooden seats in Davidge Hall listening to the
welcoming talks and congratulatory remarks, my mind drifted to you, of course: to our past, to
our family, to our community, to the lives we pursued and the choices we made – mine ultimately
leading me to Davidge Hall. It was an overwhelming feeling realizing how far I had come and
how extraordinarily lucky I was (am) to be surrounded by such incredibly talented classmates in
such a prestigious University.

From the orientation speeches we then transitioned to the classroom to begin the learning
process. My classmates and I had the humbling and awesome experience of being able to dissect a
cadaver to learn about the beauty of the human body. The first day, when we uncovered our body,
I thought of you. I saw the cadaver in front of me, and I saw your face. And as we continued the
dissection process throughout the following weeks, never once did I forget that the body in front
of me was a person. A person that loved and was loved, a person that had his own story; one that I
will never know.

We then were allowed the opportunity to begin transitioning our knowledge from inside
the classroom to the real world with our Introduction to Clinical Medicine course. After taking the
history of the first patient that I had ever seen, I was told that this patient would be dead within
the next three months. You flashed before my eyes; oh, how powerful it was to have that
experience.

Dear little brother, the past twelve weeks of my life have pushed me to the limit. I’m sure
you know this from wherever you are. Your death has affected me in profound and indescribable
ways. But one thing I know, it has deeply changed the way I view medicine and the human that is
behind the mask of ‘patient’.

Thank you for teaching me.

Love you to the moon and back.

-Anonymous

16

Yellow

Michael Sikorski, MS1

Yellow is a peculiar color.
Yellow, the color of changing trees
Yellow, the sand and sun of your daydreams
Or yellow wallpaper to creep along.

Somewhere in between
Are the yellow walls of the hospital coffee shop.
Friendly people, friendly music, and forever refills.
A constant yellow.
The type for retreat and review of your notes
Indifferent to the hospital’s labyrinths.

Yellow we learned one morning can be caused
By the formation of stones,
The variety that block a tree that must be drained,
Or a pancreatic head filling with a sort of unchecked ego
Compressing the very same tree.

Yellow that same afternoon
Just across the hospital past the coffee shop

Took upon a face.
We met the beautiful smile of our first patient

And felt her intentional presence
And heard a history from her dedicated husband

And noticed the skin-tight yellow suit she wore
And learned it could not be shed.

The tree blocked was hers.
The stones were plain to see in the ultrasound,
A spitting image from that morning.

But now our notes include
Her radiant blue eyes.

17

California Condor on Bridge

A young California condor, bred as a captive but now released and on its own, sits on a bridge
high above the Colorado River, waiting for the warm air to take it aloft. An allegory for helping a
new group of medical students to launch themselves on their chosen career. I hope I have helped
to provide some of the warm air and understanding required for your takeoff. For me, teaching
anatomy is both revisiting the body and its intricate structures (like seeing old friends again) and
the pleasure of watching (and helping) new sets of eyes to see those structures for the first time. I
especially enjoy the diversity of cultures represented in the class and regret the little time available

to become acquainted, to share details of travels and experiences on the road of life. Part of
anatomy is coming face to face with our mortality as well as our existence, subjects often too
serious to talk about in casual conversation. But for now, this is not the end, but it is the road. An

old wanderer says, “Welcome, you have taken the first steps of your journey.”
- Dr. David Pumplin, Faculty

18

From my heart to each and every one of you,
my outstanding students and friends...

It is difficult to imagine that only ten weeks ago you met your first patient and began dissection. In
this short period of time, while rotating through the lab and working with you, I have seen your
dedication grow in so many ways. You are committed to the pursuit of excellence in acquiring
anatomical knowledge, performing dissections and practicing mock clinical procedures. You

exhibit great capacity for compassion, respect of classmates and faculty, and recognize the need for
teamwork. Most importantly, you honor human life and appreciate its vulnerabilities. These
qualities will allow you to become an admirable physician. I congratulate you on your
accomplishments and on the awarding of your White Coat, a symbol of your entry into the
Profession of Medicine. I am so proud of you and am honored to be a part of your journey.
- Dr. Diana LaPasha, Faculty
19

Anatomy Reflections

Dr. Brett Clark, Faculty

20



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