Scope, Vol. 2

SC PE Volume 2

Arts & Medicine

SC PE Arts & Medicine Presents

Cover Art: Emily Lai, M2020 Digital

Left: Foramina Marielle Mahan, M2019 Digital

SCOPE Vol. 2

Foreword This year I have been given another opportunity to write a foreword for Scope, now in its second volume.

Given the fact that I have been deeply committed to the arts in medicine for the long span of my career, it’s time to get real. I have decided to write about the meaning of life—yes, the arts are a big part of that, stay tuned. What is the meaning of life? You’ll want to know. Answers vary, but I can sum up mine in a few words: Everybody needs a project. Whether it be renovating the kitchen, making a better telescope, raising kids to be decent citizens or surviving medical school intact enough to gear up for the next project—these are the sorts of things that give us meaning. And the arts are projects of a very special sort.

We all have something within us to which we want to give expression. A sense of beauty, grief, hilarity, compassion. Art is a way out for our inner urges, demons and demigods. This outing through art is an exquisitely apt example of how we make meaning.

We often don’t even know what the end product will be. What we do know is that we have something to say, even if the listener, viewer, reader or audience doesn’t show up until the party is over. Art facilitates not so much direct communication but interconnectivity, and this connectivity through art is what we have here in Scope, where artists share with us their transcendent experiences, as in David Gostine’s photo of the Milky Way or Jeremy Marx’s verses recounting the transformative nature of a tragic life event.

It’s a bit of a puzzle that something so fundamental as meaning-making, whether through art or other exploratory practices, struggles to find its place in medical training. But here you have it: meaning is not evidence based. When years ago Jack Kornfeld, an American Buddhist, told his Thai mentors the earth was round, the monks laughed unbelievingly and shook their heads. “Then why do we not fall off?” the wisest of them asked. And yet these monks were truth-seekers of the most noble kind. The arts are a means to a truth that is arguably deeper, and kinder, and better for the world than scientific evidence. Look at Marilyn McGowan’s reflection on what it means to leave her 20s, or Griselda Potka’s uncertainty about whether she is up to the daunting tasks that lie ahead. Or look at Cameron Zachary’s canvas of explosive textures and colors, or Saman Asjodi’s serpentine vegetation suggesting through its evocation of an intestine with villi or a prickly viper that all things, animal and vegetable, microscopic and macroscopic, form a unity. All of these works speak to us, though what they say can’t be sized, measured or randomized. They speak to us of what gives us meaning, here and now, in our vivid incarnate experience. They remind us in their gorgeous array and their thoughtfulness that what matters, matters in the here and now and, even more importantly, matters to our shared experience. Because I hate to break it you folks: meaning, like everything else, slips away. Show up for it while you can.

Dr. Caroline Wellbery, MD Advisor, Arts & Medicine Professor, Department of Family Medicine

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Letter from the Editors

ARTS & MEDICINE

When we set out to make this year’s Scope, we knew we had big shoes to fill. Scope Vol. 1 showcased incredible student talent, demonstrated a beautifully artistic design, and wove into its pages the human experience through the lens of art. The success of the inaugural edition of Scope was intimidating, yet provided an opportunity to learn and build off of the solid foundation built before us.

As we began to create Scope Vol. 2, we realized this sense of intimidation, comparison, and fear of not succeeding is not isolated to our experience with Scope, but can unfortunately be quite pervasive in our lives as medical students.

We often feel overwhelmed in medicine, especially as medical students, by the amount we have to learn, the number of people we have to learn from, and the expectations we place on ourselves to heal. Our greatest gift and privilege - a life devoted to our patients - can also be a heavy weight to bear. It is during these times of self-doubt that we reflect back on our commitment to service and on the foundations that guide our education and build our character.

At Georgetown University School of Medicine, a core pillar of both curriculum and practice is the Catholic and Jesuit principle of cura personalis. Translated as “care of the whole person,” cura personalis challenges us to seek a more individualized approach to patient care by acknowledging and letting flourish the gifts and talents of others. With this as our foundation, it is easy to see why student groups such as Arts and Medicine thrive here: they allow us to dig deeper into ourselves and learn how to care for the parts of us that are not assessed with lab draws and CT scans. In essence, Arts and Medicine, as well as Scope, allows us to practice both the art and science of medicine each day.

Art is not only an outlet of self-expression and stress relief, but is deeply integrated within medicine. It exists in the center, not in addition to, our journey to become physicians and practice medicine. We believe that Scope Vol. 2 brings this sentiment to life, and provides a glimpse into the astounding creativity, talent, and thoughtfulness cultivated at Georgetown University School of Medicine. We invite you to witness firsthand the evolving talents and artwork of those whom we proudly claim as classmates and colleagues.

In the pages of Scope Vol. 2 that follow, we present something that is both intimately inspired from Vol. 1 and something entirely of its own - authentic and creative in new ways.

~ The Editors, Scope Volume 2 Karin Collins Emilie Fortman Emily Lai Erin McDonough Marilyn McGowan Herminio “Jet” Navia

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD.........................................................................................................................................2 LETTER FROM THE EDITORS........................................................................................................3 CONTRIBUTORS abel, dori.......................................................................................................................................................... 6 asdjodi, saman......................................................................................................................................... 18, 37 biagetti, gina.................................................................................................................................................. 9 bryant, meigan.............................................................................................................................................. 33 clarke, johan.......................................................................................................................................... 31-32 collins, karin.................................................................................................................................................. 9 conroy, dylan.......................................................................................................................... 4-5, 6-7, 37, 45 ferris, william.............................................................................................................................................. 10 fortman, emilie...................................................................................................................................... 28, 30 gostine, david................................................................................................................................... 11, 40-41 guzzi, john........................................................................................................................26-27, 38-39, 41, 47 jonikas, meghan............................................................................................................................................ 33 khan, umar......................................................................................................................................... 14-15, 36 klingman, lauren............................................................................................................................... 8, 16-17 lai, emily.................................................................................................................................... cover art, 23

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Potomac Dylan Conroy, M2019 Photograph

ARTS & MEDICINE mahan, marielle...................................................................................................................1, 9, 20, 42, 43 marx, jeremy........................................................................................................................................ 26-27 mcdonough, erin...................................................................................................................................... 20 mcgowan, marilyn.................................................................................................................................... 38 migliarese, frank..................................................................................................................................... 36 murthy, anu............................................................................................................................................... 32 navia, herminio “jet�............................................................................................................................... 46 nahreini, jhenya....................................................................................................................................... 21 norwood, abigayle.................................................................................................................................. 12 paolini, michael.................................................................................................................................. 22, 31 potka, griselda......................................................................................................................................... 43 purks, jennifer.................................................................................................................................... 19, 33 scheuing, lisa............................................................................................................................................ 25 schirm, karen...................................................................................................................................... 20, 29 solak, john................................................................................................................................................. 30 stukel, nick.......................................................................................................................................... 18, 19 venkat, preethi......................................................................................................................................... 13 wikholm, katherine..............................................................................................................24, 34-35, 44 zachary, cameron.................................................................................................................................... 25 ABOUT US...........................................................................................................................................48

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Behind the Scales Dori Abel, M2018

Her eyes were sullen Her shoulders slumped over, Just barely supporting Her head that hung low Caught on her chair, Her sleeve exposed her elbow; Red, inflamed, bumpy, flaky, The reason for her visit Silvery scales glistened Like mother-of-pearl poised atop fires; Dusting her clothing With flakes—small reminders Her one-word answers Were enough to know; No swimming, no shorts Few friends, many stares She will get steroids, Perhaps UV light But will that suffice For her to heal?

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Boat Dylan Conroy, M2019 Photograph 7

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Diagnosis

Karin Collins, M2020 Words too quickly Jump from the page Her face I have not seen, Yet judgments my brain makes Pain medication.

Once given as relief Has now marked her chart It’s now causing grief The door opens quickly I am left alone With a woman so broken So burdened So real Tears fall silently Like quiet echoes of strife Words soon follow

Brachial Plexus Marielle Mahan, M2019 Digital

Workups had failed X-rays had missed The person beneath and The life so amiss If only the ones who Had promised to heal Remembered the gravity Of words from a mouth And not from a screen If only we listened If only we slowed down We’d know many more answers Than those assumed so profound

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A Physician’s Exam: Inspection, Auscultation, Palpation Lauren Klingman, M2019 Pencil

Lower Extremity Angiogram Gina Biagetti, M2019 Marker

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Yosemite Sunset Photograph

I took this picture of the sun setting over Dewey Point in Yosemite Valley National Park while backpacking along the rim with my wife. From the moment I took it, it has become a source of self-reflection and inspiration. The tree has witnessed the sun set countless times over the Valley, but this one I captured, a fleeting moment, enshrined forever in a photograph.

The tree lives a lonely existence on the rocky, windswept point. The cold, frigid nights, and the long, shadeless, hot summer days make for a trying existence. But every evening, it is rewarded with an unparalleled view of the sun setting over the Valley below. Surely, it must gather inspiration from these brief moments every evening.

As student-doctors and later practicing physicians, we can feel isolated. Dealing with life and death issues and the wellbeing of patients can, at times, make us feel alone in the world. Sometimes the responsibility rests with us, and us alone.

But there are the times, like this fir tree, we need to look around us and gather strength and courage to forge on ahead.

Sometimes the most beautiful sunsets come before the darkest of nights.

-William Ferris, M2020

Angelâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Landing Milky Way

David Gostine, MD/MBA 2018 Photograph 10

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Abigayle Norwood, M2020 Jewelry Design Photo by Laura Schmitt

Abigayle Norwood, M2020 Jewelry Design Photo by Laura Schmitt 12

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Untitled Preethi Venkat, M2020 Crayon, Ballpoint Pen & Paint Pen

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Schadenfreude

Umar Khan, M2020 Photographs

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Annecy, France Lauren Klingman, M2019 Acrylic on Canvas 16

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50 Shades of Blue Nick Stukel, MD/MBA 2018 Photograph

The Prickly Curves Saman Asdjodi, M2021 Photograph 18

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Curious Penguin Nick Stukel, MD/MBA 2018 Photograph

Cinque Terra, Italy Jennifer Purks, M2021 Photograph 19

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Karen Schirm, M2020 Acrylic on Canvas

Marielle Mahan, M2019 Digital

Erin McDonough, M2021 Acrylic on Wood

Karen Schirm, M2020 Acrylic on Canvas

“That it will never come again”

ARTS & MEDICINE

Jhenya Nahreini, M2020

Gazing at the stars as I walk to campus each morning is sacred for me because often the sky is the only connection I feel I have with the rest of the world. No matter where someone is on earth, he can look up and see the same sky. The journey through medical school can be a very isolating experience at times, and I have noticed that connection is what I have yearned for most in the past few months.

On the morning of October 2nd, I remember noting that the stars forming the Big Dipper were especially bright. I took out my phone to listen to the hourly news on the NPR app, and whatever connection I had been feeling by gazing up at the vast sky disappeared. There had been a shooting in Las Vegas the night before, and suddenly hundreds of people’s lives were turned upside down. Meanwhile, I was studying for an exam on hematologic disorders, and I had no idea what to feel.

In the first three months of my second year at Georgetown, Hurricane Harvey hit, followed by Hurricane Irma, and then Maria. An earthquake rumbled through Mexico, and then a gunman opened fire on a crowd of concert-goers at the Route 91 Harvest music festival in Las Vegas. Car bombings in Somalia left at least 300 people dead, and meanwhile in Yemen, children continued to die, approximately one every ten minutes, mostly from preventable causes. On any given day in the US in these past months, nearly 100 people died from an opioid overdose.

Every time I heard another devastating story on the news, I felt less connected. In some instances, I experienced something like survivor’s guilt, and at other times, I just felt angry. I did not know any of the victims personally, but I wanted to have an infinite moment with each person, a moment to appreciate an incredible life that was lost. But I did not have infinite moments. The hands on the clock never stopped, and life went on.

Recently, I was sitting in a chair in the business school, trying to understand a lecture on antihypertensive drugs, when I started crying. I was surprised by how suddenly the tears came, but then again, it made sense. So much had happened in this short span of time since returning to DC, and I had not given myself time to process any of it. I was emotionally tired.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I sighed, prepared to see yet another email added to my inbox, but instead it was a text from my father.

“I know this might sound crazy, but I envy you. I miss the days when I was a student and spent hours engaged in my studies, eager to learn something new. I know school is stressful, but try to enjoy these next few years of your life. This may sound morbid, but what if, hypothetically, you graduate from medical school in three years, and the day after your graduation, you are in some horrible accident and your life ends. Will those prior three years just be memories haunted by constant stress and sadness? Or will they be memories filled with joy because you pursued something you loved and interacted with others sharing a similar passion?”

Reading those sweet words, I understood that connection is the simple joy of sharing a life with and for others. Although there is sadness and remorse in the death of a loved one, perhaps the real tragedy is that we never imagine how empty our lives could be without one person until it is too late. I was fortunate not to know any victims in these recent tragedies, but I knew it could easily have been different. What would it be like to wake up one day and realize I would never again see a certain individual, a classmate, a professor, a nurse, a parent, a sibling, a close friend? My simple life as a medical student is by no means extravagant, and it certainly is not social-media worthy. Still, it is extraordinary because of the people in it.

I will continue on this path to become a physician, and meanwhile the world will progress each day into an unknown future. More disasters will occur, people will die, and many things will pass that are beyond my control. The real tragedy is when I stop seeing my own life as extraordinary because then I miss moments every day to connect with people around me. Unlike the Big Dipper, which I faithfully see every morning, these opportunities to connect are fleeting. As Emily Dickinson said, “That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.”

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3pm Clearing (above) A Room with a View (below) Michael Paolini, M2021 Photographs

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Untitled Emily Lai, M2020 Digital 23

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Boats Katherine Wikholm, M2019 Watercolor

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Untitled Cameron Zachary, M2021 Oil on Canvas

Untitled Lisa Scheuing, M2020 Acrylic on Canvas 25

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Christian Able Jeremy Marx, M2020

I remember the day Jessi told me about you

That Christ would bring you through each and every day

We had always dreamed of having boy number two You see, I was boy number two, and as you grew We were going to bond over that special view

One night when I had my face close to yours, I remember telling you to persevere to the safety of the shores In response, you delivered a kick so strong that I believed you would make it far enough along

We hugged, and laughed, and rejoiced over you

So, we planned for your arrival, me and your mother We even got bunk beds for you and your brother As the months ticked by, the joy turned to fear What was not evident before became increasingly clearer There were serious complications And we were just beginning to realize all the implications A mother’s womb is a place of warmth and safety Yet, you faced an onslaught of attacks daily Her immune system thought you didn’t belong But it was my blood in you that was recognized as wrong So, with faith and hope we prayed for you And believed that Jesus would bring you through That whatever it took, whatever the cost We would do whatever it took to ensure you weren’t lost In the whirlwind that followed, we continued to pray

White Christmas John Guzzi, M2019 26 Photograph

It was a kick so hard, that it makes me certain you lived A kick so hard, that on your mom’s stomach it made my hand give In her womb, you fought with all your might And in the home you were to live, we prayed through many long nights But the news came that the illness was rapidly progressing Your mother already knew though, as your softening kicks foreshadowed the devastating At the hospital, a transfusion was readied to give blood that would be accepted A nurse came in, but soon rushed out disrupted Then, the doctor told us your heart was no longer beating Oh life, you are so deceptively fleeting!

ARTS & MEDICINE

So those moments were here, and then they went You were with us one second, and then heaven sent Insult to injury, you were delivered Your mother labored 48 hours though we were not to be your caregivers As I held you in my arms, I saw how much you looked like your brother I wept so much my body shook like no other I yelled at God with all my might, I couldn’t understand why He would treat us with such spite It was a fault no more your mother’s than mine That you bore this blood unable to shine What irony it is, the blood we bear That causes eternal life or death be faired The fault of Adam, now yours to share And losing you rendered our souls to tear As time went by, and as the seasons changed My thoughts aligned, my understanding rearranged

The Lord is good, He loves with all His might What hurts in life, is not from Him for spite He takes the broken, and finds ways to make it new He fills in the cracks and crevices, and brings us through He gave His blood, to redeem it all by faith For those who would look to Him alone to take the weight To take death’s sting, and turn it to victory To one day make these trials a distant history I’ll never know why it was that you died Or understand all the implications Or feel completeness in the divide You will never be replaced, But your sister lives because you died taking her place This coming year you would have been seven And I’ll never forget those moments I held you after your spirit went to heaven Caden asks about you, and wishes for his brother Mikalyn thinks about you, and so does your loving Mother You are my second son - Christian Able Marx Know that we will always hold you dearly in our hearts

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Take a Breath & Think Emilie Fortman, M2020 Colored Pencil

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Medical Dental Building Karen Schirm, M2020 Acrylic on Canvas

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Balloons Emilie Fortman, M2020 Photograph

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Reunited John Solak, M2020 Photograph

Johan Clarke M2019

(Performed at “What Makes You...” in 2017)

ARTS & MEDICINE VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries and some of the locals’ reactions to the modern buttresses that were added to the walls to prevent further destruction and how many considered this to be a destruction of the history of the space.

T

As I walked around on the shockingly sunny day, I thought about if there were any historical places like this near where I grew up and what it would have been like to grow up in a place where its history is so close and so palpable. I thought about what my dad said about growing up here and how he took an astonishingly scenic drive every morning on his bus to school, yet he never noticed it until he came back to visit after he moved to the US. I thought about my dad and wondered if he ever snuck out as a teenager and hung out in the middle of the night on the grounds of an abbey older than the country I was born in, just because he could. But then again, On New Year’s Day, my family and I were walking around because of what was going on in Northern Ireland at the the ruins of Grey Abbey, the remains of a Catholic place time, that might not have been a safe decision and if he nevof worship now in a predominately Protestant village. My er looked out at the sea, he might have never thought about brothers and I were raised Lutheran, our mother’s national the anachronism of his teenage shenanigans outside of a rureligion, which is decidedly not Catholic, and while none of ined abbey. Knowing myself, I probably wouldn’t have either. us are particularly religious, it never stops us from appreciating aesthetically pleasing half-destroyed walls from half I grew up in the DC suburbs in Maryland, a state whose a millennia ago. While I wandered around, I overheard my history is integrally tied to its freedom to practice Catholifather discussing the abbey’s history, including King Henry cism and a state who forgot the religions that existed there his Christmas, I did what I have done each Christmas for the past 7 or 8 years since my grandma first started getting sick: travel to Northern Ireland to celebrate the holiday season with my father’s family. Though she passed away several years ago, we still go each year as a part-family-vacation-part-visit-to-family. Usually, December is part of Ireland’s 12-month long rainy season, but this trip was surprisingly dry and not below freezing.

We therefore spent a lot of the trip outdoors experiencing the beauty this country I sometimes call home has to offer.

The Watch Michael Paolini, M2021 Photograph 31

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before colonialism. In my lifetime, our family has only moved once, and we moved to a house that is a 30-minute walk from my first house. When I went off to college, I went to the one my parents have both worked at for longer than I have been alive. Outside of a semester abroad in Edinburgh, I haven’t really lived somewhere more than an hour’s drive from my hometown. Yet at the same time, I feel like I have only superficial roots to Maryland.

None of the family on my father’s side lives in America. In fact, essentially all of my family save for my parents and my brothers lives on another continent. I have one cousin on my mom’s side in the States, but she lives in San Diego, so I don’t see her ever either. My mother is from Finland and my father is from Northern Ireland. Both came to this country to work at the NIH for what they assumed would only be a short while. However, both of them ended up starting careers here. My brothers and I are first generation citizens and our parents are still on green cards.

you ask. “The Troubles” is the most avoided conversation topic that you just can’t avoid in Northern Ireland (and something else we had talked about in the past few days).

Maybe that conversation or that difficult history that permeates through this country was why at this barely-there abbey I was thinking about my genealogy and musing about how religions change in a space. There will always be holes in my family history that I won’t know, just like there was a missing wall and roof of this abbey and only markers for the cloister (which is always my favorite part of abbeys). The abbey was, nonetheless, still beautiful.

In America, I don’t feel very American, but in Ireland or Finland, I don’t feel very Irish or Finnish either. I think my accent and the fact that my mom never taught me Finnish has a lot to do with that, though those are only superficial markers.

While in Ireland looking at a dilapidated abbey and considering myself less and less Irish, I thought maybe I’m more American. Now that I’m back in America, and answering the question of why I was in Ireland by enthusiastically sharing my experiences and the joy I had visiting family there, I’m still not sure I’m that American either. My passport says American, but my lineage says otherwise. I was baptized in Kircubbin, County Down, but was confirmed in Rockville, MD, and was raised in the predominant religion of Finland.

I know Maryland and feel like a Marylander. I think Old Bay is the perfect spice mix. I went to the Eastern Shore for vacation as a kid and have multiple Ocean City shirts to prove it. I have a tattoo of black eyed susans on my back. I constantly point to the merits and beauty of Baltimore to anyone who bad-talks it. I have a friendly disdain for Northern Virginia because of a minor rival- Each time I learn something new about my family, it’s ry between DC suburbs. And yet I don’t have anything as if my family keeps evolving. On my father’s side, I am to point to when it comes to claims for living there. the product of a policeman grandfather and traveling actress grandmother. On my mother’s side, I am the prodWhile walking around these pretty stones in the ground uct of a grandfather from a peasant background and a held up by something radically different from its original grandmother from a land-owning background. I am design, I thought I had as much a claim on Ireland and Fin- the child of two immigrants: one Celtic, one Nordic. I land as I did on Maryland. I thought about how, the eve- am the first MD (candidate) to a pair of PhDs. I am the ning before, I found out another tidbit of knowledge from product of different people coming together over time my parents about my family. Each time the family comes and lands unknown to me and lost to family history. My together like this, I learn a new part of our history. Previ- past and my present will continue to be made and reously, I had learned my mother’s father was a Communist made as time goes on and more anachronistic buttresses peasant living in the same area as my grandmother, who may be put up to keep the abbey walls from falling down. was a part of the Finnish landed gentry. This time, I learned more about my grandmother on my father’s side, who was born in the highlands in Scotland though her family came from Northern Ireland. She traveled the British Isles with her family of traveling actors, and some of her family was from England. I knew that my grandmother was born in Scotland, but I had no idea anyone in our family was English. I had always imagined a long, long line of Irish descendants going back for as long as history would allow us to remember, but in hindsight that seems more like the beginnings of a Celtic myth than the basis of a family tree.

The Irish and the British both have a strong fondness for knowing their genealogy. In Northern Ireland, the terms Irish and British can either be interchangeable or the reason for years of civil unrest, depending on who or when 32

Anu Murthy, M2020 Photograph

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Santorini, Greece Jennifer Purks, M2021 Photograph

Meigan Bryant and Meghan Jonikas, M2020 Photograph

(Taken while serving on the Georgetown medical mission trip in Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, Summer 2017)

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Summer Days Katherine Wikholm, M2019 Watercolor 34

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Krakow Umar Khan, M2020 Photograph

Scene 1, “EMT: The Musical”

the essence of time, why don’t we all agree to a verbal agreement. It’s not like anyone really reads these. iTunes could Frank Migliarese, M2020 change their user agreement to claim your firstborn child after 18 and no one would have been the wiser for it. So all Act 1 Scene 1: Fair and Balance who verbally agree to whatever I wrote and hope that I havLawyer: en’t just sold your organs and first child to the black market (Well-dressed woman/man, walks to center stage in front say “I agree.” (pause) Hmmm, I don’t think I heard everyof curtain) one agree. Show can’t go on unless everyone agrees. (pauses glances at watch and taps foot) One more time. “I agree”.

Good Evening/Afternoon/Morning ladies, gentlemen, and children. Just a brief moment of your time. Before we begin, Good enough. I am also required by law to notify that any there a few legal matters to attend to. (Scans room) resemblances for a person or situation portrayed here is merely coincidence. Although, all events and people you Yes, legal matters. Why the looks? With any transaction, see here are based on scattered true occurrences. For the musical, medical, or monetary, there are inherent risks that sake of privacy, names have been changed to unbearable inwe must protect ourselves from...you, you sue crazy bottom tended puns. You can blame the writer for his sick, sadistic feeders. God forbid there be any forgiveness or understand- love of bad jokes. ing or accountability. (Composes himself/herself) During this show, you may experience: (takes deep breath Moving on, under your seats is your typical NDA, HIPAA and then speaks rapidly near incomprehensible) nausea, privacy agreements, life insurance policies, Living Wills, constipation, diarrhea, vomiting, drowsiness, frequent urgDNRs, DNIs, Organ donation cards, prenuptial agree- es to urinate, blue urine, shortness of breath, chest pain, ments…(pauses, slightly agitated, tries to hide it)…honest- abdominal pain, an erection lasting more than four hours, ly folks, you don’t realize how important that can be. You inability to be aroused, impulse to gamble, hysteria, psymarry thinking that love will solve all and that you will chosis, polyphagia, polydypsia, hypoglycemia, extreme flatnever part, and think two adult people could be civil but ulence, hallucinations, narcolepsy, munchies, drunchies, NOOooo! You end up cut in half and moving back in with and death. In case of severe, adverse reaction to this show, mom because she is “not in love” and you still have debt up please call 911 as no one in this cast is actually medicalto your ears. Yeah, love ya too. Thanks Peggy! ly trained. Now strap in get ready for the arrival of your E.M.T.!!!

Anyways, also included are emergency contact information, next of kin, and etc. Please peruse at your leisure. Pret- (Opening Number Starts) ty standard procedure. Just covering all our bases. But in 36

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Reflections Saman Asdjodi, M2021 Photograph

Untitled Dylan Conroy, M2019 Photograph 37

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Lost and Found Marilyn McGowan, M2020

I have lost my 20s, have I? That’s what I was told, and historically, I’m very good at doing what I’m told. I think it was from that good Catholic education I had as a child.

But this feels different – I’m told that as a medical student I am bidding farewell to those formidable 20s and to the mistakes, triumphs, and transitions it entails. I’m replacing the happy hours with study hours, the lazy Sundays with the crippling feeling of, “Here comes another week and I already haven’t made up for last.”

I’ve certainly lost some things in exchange for medical school, but it’s not “my 20s” – whatever that means. In spite of the monotony it may appear to be – I feel more connected than ever before, and if anything, I’ve found my 20s. I’ve found them to be a time of deep exploration into what it means to live – from perspective of patient, care-provider, and 20-something.

I’ve found my 20s to take my mind to previously uncharted places. Though maybe more geographically stagnant, the rest of me is anything but. It is that mental exploration that is irreplaceable. It allows me to claim my 20s as my own, and not something to be lost. This is a trade-off, it is not a lost and found.

Written at a writing workshop in Lombardi Cancer Center led by Nancy Morgan. The prompt was “Lost and Found.”

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Rest Stop John Guzzi, M2019 Photograph

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Jefferson Monument David Gostine, MD/MBA 2018 Photograph 40

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Permanent John Guzzi, M2019

he had a name tag and when he spoke all you heard was that he had something you didn’t a name to know and be known you had a mute body and you looked in the mirror to new eyes grown by subtraction just owning what was now gone he didn’t know you and he couldn’t recall those pieces that left before your eyes, gone parted from themselves and you you saw their absence and filled their place with the one thing that would last until tomorrow a name to know and be known

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Face (above) Large Intestine (right) Marielle Mahan, M2019 Digital

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ARTS & MEDICINE

Meditations on Anatomy Lab Griselda Potka, M2020

With my index finger, I trace the blue stitching on my white coat. Despite its rigid, starchy feel, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever held in my hands. I often dreamed of this elusive garment, hoping that one day it would envelop me like a safety blanket. Finally, after years of striving, the name stitched upon it is my own.

“I can do this,” I whisper to the coat, “I am doing this.”

This was my mantra during those early weeks of medical school, until the day that I had to cut into the embalmed flesh of what was once a living, breathing human being in order to learn the complicated networks of bones, muscles, tendons, and nerves that allow us to walk, dance, and feel. As I gently roll the blanket off my cadaver, I feel the pitter patter of my heart and wonder, “what if I can’t do this?”

At home that evening, I meditate in hopes of wiping away the events of the day but instead I relive them over and over again, remembering my first incision into the formaldehyde-infused skin. My eyes water, my nostrils burn and my anxious heart gallops as I recount the smell of chemicals and the feeling of cutting into a life ended.

Have I made a huge mistake? Who am I to hold lives, both present and past, in these hands?

As I open my eyes to my semi-lit room, I catch a glimpse of my white coat hanging in the closet. Even in the shadows, I can see its sturdiness. I rise, reaching, and place it over my defeated shoulders. Suddenly, serenity is restored to my heart. My hands feel strong and capable once more. Looking in the mirror, I say, “It’s you and me now. We can do this,” and I begin to believe again in the person staring back at me.

Psoas Marielle Mahan, M2019 Digital

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Summer Sun (above) Discovery (below) Katherine Wikholm, M2019 Watercolor

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Mark Dylan Conroy, M2019 Photograph & Photoshop 45

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Herminio “Jet” Navia, M2020 Digital Excerpts from my a cappella arrangement of “Fix You” by Coldplay. I arranged this for the Georgetown School of Medicine a cappella group, founded in the Spring of 2017, with the help of Arts & Medicine. This arrangement was performed at the donor mass, a celebration of the lives of those who generously donated their bodies as cadavers.

Follow the link to the right, or scan the QR code, to listen to our recording of “Fix You.”

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John Guzzi, M2019 Photograph Taken during the annual fall Arts & Medicine sunrise hike to Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park.

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About Arts & Medicine

e are an organization run by and for Georgetown University medical students with the goal of integrating the arts into student life and medical education at the Georgetown University School of Medicine.

We strive to bring the Jesuit concept of magis, or “doing more,” to life. We hope to enhance the patient experience through meaningful, therapeutic arts outreach initiatives. We encourage the professional formation of physicians equipped to practice in the cura personalis, or “care of the whole person,” tradition. We communicate a medical professional’s unique perception of a shared human experience. We celebrate and promote the diversity of creative talent at the Georgetown University School of Medicine and Medical Center.

In addition to Scope, our programs include: • Hippocrates Cafe: quarterly open mic events featuring student and faculty talent • Music & Medicine volunteer trips with the pediatric patients at MedStar Georgetown University Hospital and IONA senior services • “What Makes You…”: we partner with the Office of Diversity and Inclusion to bring a night of spoken word, skits, film and photography, dance, music, visual art, and other art forms to celebrate the talent, diverse experiences, and community at Georgetown University School of Medicine • Live music fundraisers • Reflective photography campaigns • Annual sunrise hike to Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park • Obituary writing workshop for first year students to reflect on their experiences in anatomy lab • Student workshops that encourage creativity and reflection centered on everyday encounters

Arts & Medicine Executive Board 2017-2018

Back row (left to right): Priya Mehta, Frank Migliarese, Marilyn McGowan, Bethany Kette, Janet Shin, Herminio “Jet” Navia Front row (left to right): Karin Collins, Michal Ad, Griselda Potka, Emily Lai

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