2023 ChART e-journal 10th Edition

ChArt (Celebrating the Humanities & Arts)

The Humanities Journal of the Phoenix Biomedical Campus

Volume 10, 2022-2023

©Copyright, All Rights Reserved

Celebrating the Humanities & Arts is an interprofessional, peer-reviewed/juried journal devoted to sharing the insights and experiences of the Phoenix biomedical community (students, staff, faculty and patients) through original works of personal expression, including original art, essays, motion media, photography, poetry and prose.

The journal is supported by: The Program for Narrative Medicine & Health Humanities,, Department of Bioethics and Medical Humanism

The University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix 435 N 5th St. Phoenix, Arizona 85004 Email: PBC-Journal@email.arizona.edu : E-Journal: www.tinyurl.com/ChARTejournal2023

Website: www.narrativemedphx.com

Print Copy: www.Amazon.com

Dear Phoenix Biomedical Community,

Greetings! We are pleased to present our tenth annual humanities and arts journal. Our mission is to celebrate the diversity of perspectives, ideas and experiences of our campus with you and present both the familiar and extraordinary moments in human experiences. Representative pieces are drawn from the genres of prose, poetry, photography, painting and motion media. They showcase the many creative and artistic talents of our community.

This print edition is a selection of this year’s submissions, woven together with visual art editor favorites from past years, in celebration of a decade of the journal’s history. We hope that you feel inspired by the unique perspectives of the authors and artists presented. May these works lead you to a renewed level of commitment to self-expression and artistic exploration, and may your own endeavors create harmony, balance and joy in your life.

On behalf of the editorial board – enjoy!

Jennifer R. Hartmark-Hill, MD, FAAFP Meher Rakkar Faculty Editor-in-Chief Student Editor-in-Chief

Editorial Board

Erik Garber

Tiffany Harmanian

Jen Hartmark-Hill

Amy Martins

Sarah Nelson

Meher Rakkar

Nicole Varda

Special Acknowledgements

Cover Art - Kennedy Sparling

Corazón Del Desierto Amber Perry 2012

Dr. Jacqueline Chadwick – With appreciation for support for the founding of this journal

Dr. David Beyda, Department of Bioethics & Medical Humanism Chair, with appreciation for continued support and encouragement

Title: grounded

Long before coming to medical school, I loved working with children. I’ve always found spending time with them restorative. Whether rotating in pediatrics, the birth of my daughter, or raising my son, this past year I found myself more and more pulled down into their perspective of the world. I wrote this after a day in a pediatric clinic, in which I benefited from such grounding. After all, children see things through their own lens.

BRADY ANDERSON is a second year medical student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. He is a husband, father, and probably should have been studying instead of writing poems.

ground my mind, shrink my view let me see through your simple eyes make the world bigger make it seem new help me see it again through you

Title: Astronomical

Astronautical was inspired by the curiosity and imagination of children. As a child, I was fascinated by the idea of exploring unknown continents, the depths of the ocean, and the distant reaches of space. Here, this desire to explore and encounter the impossible is represented by four children in a cardboard box flying through a flock of space-squid! Each child characterizes a different reaction to the journey—one who quietly observes and soaks it all in; one who looks forward to what might happen next; a child who wants to connect with the new creatures they have discovered; and one who simply needs to touch and experience it with his own hands. This same curiosity drives me not only in my artistic expressions, but also in my pursuit of science and healthcare.

REBECKAH FINE is an alum of the Northern Arizona University Physician Assistant Studies program. She is also a local artist passionate about the healing power of art and imagination.. In the future, she hope to combine my love of art and my love of healthcare by displaying my work in pediatric healthcare settings.

Title: The Future

This piece was inspired by recent life events experienced by my family or friends. I hope that this piece gives those experiencing tough times the peace of mind and the comfort that they are not alone and that brighter times lie ahead.

LISA SHAH-PATEL, MD, is the Director of Career and Professional Advising at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her family, warm days at the beach, skiing with her two girls, and traveling.

The unknown, the unturned, the unspoken

So much change, so much fear, so much angst

Broken vision, broken thought, broken heart, broken hope

Breathe, feel, and become entangled within the moment.

Life full of wishes and dreams

Positive thoughts, spiritual beings, and passionate belief

Love, acceptance, wonder, and calm

Breathe, feel, and become entangled within the moment.

Title: A Year in Flowers

Right before the start of 3rd year I stumbled upon a flower arranging event at a botanical garden. I really enjoyed it and decided to get flowers as an occasional treat-usually around the start of a new rotation. It was a simple thing, but the ever-changing pop of color in the apartment would always brighten my day. As I approach the end of third year, recalling the different flower arrangements over the months also brings back memories and reflections of each rotation.

RUOYAN ZHU is a 3rd year medical student interested in neurology. In her spare time she loves drawing, hiking, and visiting art museums. She can often be found in coffee and plant shops around Phoenix.

Title: The Cycle of Life

This piece was inspired by recent experiences over the last few years including isolation by Covid, family growth and loss, and the need for connection. We all have these moments and even though they may be different for each of us, they are what connects us as a shared experience through our own cycle of life.

LISA SHAH-PATEL, MD, is the Director of Career and Professional Advising at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. In her free time, she enjoys spending time with her family, warm days at the beach, skiing with her two girls, and traveling.

From the very first moment in life, You must breathe and rest to grow

From the very first moment in life, You must eat and sleep to grow

From the very first moment in life, You must have human touch and warmth to grow.

These basics all become tangled in a web as life takes us on our journey

Our journey leads us through rushing and wrestling

Our journey leads us through beauty and sorrow

Our journey leads us through connection and isolation

From the last days of our life,

We seek the calmness of breath and the solitude of silence

From the last days of our life,

We halt our nourishment and curl up as a ball

From the last days of our life,

We embrace the warmth of one another and hold onto the deepest of memories.

Title: Ashes to Ashes

Life must one day come to an end. Yet in death, there is life. As the phrase goes, "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust." In honoring the lives of those who have donated their bodies for our learning, we acknowledge that with their death brings about a new generation of physicians who will hold in high regard this life cycle, and dedicate our own lives to protecting the integrity of others' - in birth, and in death.

In the era of the COVID-19 pandemic, where nearly all of our learning is virtual, we must adapt. Through the mental and spiritual resilience we find ways to admire the resilience of the human body, and appreciate the harmony in the new opportunities that arise from this period of adversity. Without the life cycle, without our gracious donors and their families, these opportunities would not exist, and we are forever grateful to them. In death, there is life. In life, there is hope. "Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust.

Isabel Strouse is a student in the Class of 2024 at the University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix.

Title: Body of Literature

RANDI RUBENZIK, MD, is a dermatologist in Phoenix with interests in art, literature, medicine, parenting, and curiosity in general.

I love everything about a book

Its spine its feathers

Its glowing red eyes and Its fake nylon eyelashes

Its green grassy feet

Its grease-and-diesel fingernails

The loud pink gum popping between its molars

The stardust gunking up its ears

The blue cape stuffed inside its collar

Its ticklish starving belly full of

Kwashiorkor and its sickled bones

Its lanugo hair and

Its crow's feet

Its venomous glands and

Its cetacean breath

Its redwood heart and Its vertiginous inner ear

But my favorite part is

Its insomniac hands

Writing me a letter.

Title: Candy Paint Nature Walk

(Recycled paper on canvas, acrylic)

There’s a moment when you’re outside, on a hike, or a bike ride, when you suddenly realize you can hear only the wind blowing and the crunch of gravel beneath your feet. No airplanes, no cars whizzing by. The moment is calm and centering, but also exciting and energizing. Eventually though, the feeling passes as we begin to see signs of man, often a plastic water bottle on the trail, or garbage strewn to the side. This piece examines the intersection of man and nature. It is made out of recycled office materials, flour, water, and acrylic, and is modeled after a topographical map of Cave Creek Regional Park. It explores our relationship with the environment, and especially how we get entrenched in our daily lives and duties, while we’re really such a small piece of a bigger picture.

ELLEN CYRIER obtained her undergraduate degree in Fine Art at The University of Iowa. At the time of publication in 2018, Ellen served as an Admissions Counselor at the University of Arizona. When not clicking through her film camera, she can be found on the tennis court, or enjoying the beautiful Arizona weather.

Title: Metamorphosis/Sixteen

RANDI RUBENZIK, MD, is a dermatologist in Phoenix with interests in art, literature, medicine, parenting, and curiosity in general.

A new species has been identified; legs now wings some spots, Rejecting the crawling phase and its pleasures, wholeheartedly receiving flying, Like a wave that flowed out and then flowed in again. Different water.

Was it a flight from or only a flight to? Departure or only arrival?

Was there any memory of before?

Was there any twitch of blessing?

Was there enough time, armature

Was there enough time, struts, was the clay properly sourced and dried, Will the first fibers hold during the bursting out of its cracked, blind egg? This is a different Thing with new angles, textures,  smells, desires, destinations.

You are near and you will go far, but I think the sculptor's pressed  thumbprints will remind you

Of the elemental dirt itself, shifting its heavy mulch, promising ascent.

Title: whole

Knowing the body is central to caring for patients. We are taught to identify pathology by comparing to a baseline – “normal” anatomy, “normal” physiology, “normal” movement. But what, really, is a “normal” body? This piece interrogates not bodies per-say, but rather corporeality. It challenges the viewer to see not only what is missing, but to see the way in which absence makes space for wholeness. This is dedicated to my queer and trans family.

R REICHENBACH (she/her) is many things: a writer, a retired high jumper, a human fiercely committed to making the healthcare space safer for queer and trans patients, and an MS1 at the University of Arizona College of Medicine Phoenix.

Title: Adaptation

During a year of significant life changes, I wanted to explore the idea that evolution is not necessarily synonymous with linear growth and adaptation is not always associated with gain.

NICOLE VARDA is a first-year medical student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine Phoenix. When she’s not studying (or procrastinating studying), she enjoys reading science fiction, writing poetry, spending time with family and friends, and purchasing overpriced coffee at new spots downtown.

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the Mexican tetra

No eyes no pigment

You are unfinished art

Iridescent and gummy

Famed for your lack

A model organism, they call you

Evolution’s poster child

Mutated beauty

I wonder what Plato would say about you, little blind cave-dweller

Thousands of years of darkness and hypoxia

No one said adaptation did not demand sacrifice

Title: Masks

MAY MOHTY, MD is an Associate Clinical professor at the UA COMP, is board certified Pediatrician and Urgent Care physician. She is a Doctoring faculty and the director of the Capstones course. She , her husband and four sons have called Arizona home for the past 32 years. Besides travelling and gardening , she enjoys photography especially Arizona desert sunrises and sunsets.

Never before… Overflowing

Now, a daily scene

Walking in and out of the hospital

It is mind blowing

I know where each one has been

All different colors

Many sizes, many filters

All have a common theme

A novel virus

Dead now

Glued on each, easily shared

One that killed many…and spared some

Safety and death intermingled

Story told in each

Stop mutating, stop spreading!

A scream held back by the fabric

Heard from mountain to beach

Coffee cups, meal boxes, an occasional mask

A normalcy, a yearning, a dream

A smile, where have you been?

Title: Little Vial, Big Impact

Gary Kirkilas, MD, is a general pediatrician at Phoenix Children’s Hospital with a unique practice. His office is a 35 foot mobile medical unit that travels to various homeless shelters in Phoenix providing free medical care to families as part of Phoenix Children’s Homeless Youth Outreach program in the General Pediatrics Department. He and his lovely wife, Mary (a pediatric emergency doctor), have three wonderful (most of the time) children and two dachshunds.

Title: Last Words

My brother is a PGY5 Otolaryngology Resident on the East Coast. He often calls me, his academic hospitalist sister, to discuss complex medical cases or if trainees are struggling and he needs advice. He told me about a PGY2 resident he had worked with who had a very difficult week and had mentioned to my brother that on two occasions she had heard the patient’s last words and that she felt unequal to carrying that burden. He was struck by the gravity of what they are asked to do when managing complex airways and in response I wrote and shared this with him so he in turn could share it with her. We often do not realize what we as physicians are called to do or asked to be the keeper of.

RUTH FRANKS SNEDECOR, MD, is an inpatient teaching attending at Banner-University Medical Center Phoenix (B-UMCP). She obtained her MD from the University of Arizona, College of Medicine, Tucson. She is board certified in Internal Medicine and is most proud of the residents and students she teaches to grow their skills as kind, thoughtful, and brilliant physicians caring for hospitalized patients.

No one ever asked me to hold your last words.

I knew I could possibly be the attendant to your last breath. I knew I may be the caretaker to your last heart beat.

It comes with the job. I said about those things. But last words…

That is for priests on death beds for confessions of old sins. For loved ones on whispered breaths for resolutions of young mistakes.

No one told me I had to hold your last words. They are not mine to hear.

They are not mine to know.

They are too much to carry in my heart. Your last words don’t belong to my ears, to my head to recall.

No one prepared me to hold your last words.

It was my own deafening realization when you died that I had heard your last words, so scared and so huge. I didn’t tell those you loved your last words because it would shatter them too.

So I kept them just to me.

No one cautioned me I was to be the keeper of your last words and how lonely that would be.

Title: Circles of Life

Our lives are integrated collages of the domains of work, community, family and personal. Within our complex days, these domains overlap in meaningful ways and at other times they require distinct with boundaries to be able to protect and grow. The art piece with circles reflects the diversity of each of the domains of our lives and this aspect of overlap and distinction.

CHERYL O’MALLEY, MD, is a strong leader in undergraduate and graduate medical education. She is currently the Associate Dean of Graduate Medical Education at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. She has used art and reflection throughout her career to maintain her own heart in medicine while inspiring, teaching and leading others.

Title: moments: reflections on loss

This past year my cousin’s oldest son lost his long-fought battle with leukemia. He was 8 years old and lived with his disease for more than half of his life. After many medical successes, and much more life than was ever expected, he passed away on his own terms in April. Watching his decline from afar was impactful for me both as a new parent and a medical student. While processing it with everyone else I found myself identifying moments of what was a painful, daunting, and often beautiful journey. These haikus represent some of those moments, with their individual thoughts and emotions. Some reflect my own feelings and observations, some stem from conversations I had with others, but together they help build a small picture of loss and grief.

BRADY ANDERSON is a second year medical student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. He is a husband, father, and probably should have been studying instead of writing poems.

with the end in sight how long can you swim upstream before your strength fails your coming changed us it marked before and after so will your absence

to conceive of death is too much for anyone having not yet lived

knowing you need me i’ll be here until the end then i will need you

the end is not pretty strength and grace finally fail and become just words

life was never fair because some are born on hills and others in holes as hope dies away when is it time to let go and how will we know nowhere left to turn knowing miracles won’t come asking anyways and if nothing else you weren’t alone at the end grieve for those that are the pain born in loss must be our burden to bear while they are set free

Title: The Wildflower

My first year of medical school I drew a very similar piece to this, but redrawing it was under much different circumstances. I did my ICU rotation in a pediatric cardiovascular ICU. I took care of a baby girl and grew very close to her parents. On my last day, her mom told me they called her “The Wildflower” because wildflowers can grow in any conditions. Hers was the first patient funeral I have ever attended, and this piece of art helped me reflect on my time with her.

MERRION DAWSON is an alum of the UACOMP Class of 2022. At the time of publication of this piece, she was a fourth year medical student. She is currently a Family Medicine resident physician. In her free time she loves to paint, draw, listen to books on tape and spend time with her family.

Title: How to Write About Illness

ROSEMARIE DOMBROWSKI, PhD, is the inaugural Poet Laureate of Phoenix, AZ, the founding editor of rinky dink press, and the founding director of Revisionary Arts, a nonprofit that facilitates self-care and healing through poetry. She’s published three collections of poetry to date and is the recipient of five Pushcart nominations. Additionally, she’s the recipient of an Arts Hero award, a Fellowship from the Academy of American Poets, and the Arizona Humanities Outstanding Speaker Award. She teaches courses on medical poetry, the poetry of witness, and radical print culture at Arizona State University. Additionally, she's the founding editor of ISSUED, a journal for and about veterans at ASU, and the faculty editor of Grey Matter, the medical poetry journal of the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix.

By addressing it like the wild dog that it is, the trickster coyote in the alley that’s violently shaking your body between its jaws.

The pharmaceutical haze, the forced march to the battlefield of your body vs. your body, the worst kind of enemy.

The Novocain soundtrack of the waiting room. Your fingers paralyzed, your memory unable to recall the dates of previous surgeries or mental breakdowns.

The medical staff working and talking behind the desk. How their normalization appalls you.

The exam room table, the blood pressure cuff, the thermometer and probe. The obligatory questions about smoking and pregnancy. The shame of revealing your height and weight.

The medical history peppered with lies of forgetfulness and omission. The tongue depressor gagging you into submission.

The restrained emotions. The refusal of treatment or scrip. All your hope lost in a single visit, maybe a single word.

The slow crawl to the exit, the clean pens vs. the dirty ones, the confusion of pen-cups and follow-ups, the ignorance of everyone who’s not wearing scrubs.

The zero balance (if you’re lucky).

The tentative recovery.

The discharge papers that you’ll redact into a poem.

Title: Myocarcactus

Myocarcactus is a mixed media piece (watercolor and ink) that uses desert imagery to explore myocarditis, inflammation of the heart muscle which can cause chest pain. Inflammation, which can be warm to touch, is represented by the glowing sun. Cardiac pain is represented by the cactus-like atria and ventricles of the image in question. By combining the prickly pear cactus and sun images to depict myocarditis, Myocarcactus highlights a clinical condition through vibrant desert imagery.

ELLE MAUREEN NEWCOME, MD, is a former active travel leader and current internal medicine resident at University of Arizona Phoenix, who enjoys creating as a way to unwind. She is passionate about addressing health disparities through medicine. In her free time, you can find Elle nordic skiing through her new neighborhood on rollerskis, spending time with friends and family, and of course, drawing and painting.

Title: Reflections on Connection

When I began clinical rotations, I started capturing meaningful moments in stories that are exactly 55 words long as a way to reflect on my experiences. These are 3 of my favorites from my third year of medical school.

NATALIE ALTERI (she/her) is a third-year medical student who is looking forward to specializing in Family Medicine. She loves all things primary care, especially preventative medicine and building relationships with patients. Her perfect day includes quality time with family and friends, a sunny hike, and good food.

With each sentence, I watch you realize that you might be done fighting. That your goals might be changing. I pull up a chair as you recount the events of the past months, consider your next steps, wonder what your time left will look like. I'm grateful you feel safe enough with me to cry.

A man who has struggled with the same addictions that took his brother’s life, fueling his desire to stay sober. Today, a new doctor. A palpable discomfort as he opened up again, sharing the most painful parts of his story so a stranger can decide if he’s worthy of respect and the treatment he needs.

The chart says 84 year old female here for a urinary tract infection. But she was here for that and to share her fears - about the aneurysm in her brain, about growing older, about not being here to see all her grandchildren graduate high school - she was here for that and to hold my hand.

Title: X-istential

This piece is from a series of drawings that originally started during my first year of PT school as an attempt to stay awake during lecture, apply anatomy in a real-world fashion, and gain understanding of how structure informs movement.

My intent with these drawings was to humanize the skeleton, in comparison to the generic skeletons we are exposed to in textbooks. The anatomical position, while practical and universal, is rarely exhibited by those around us. People are always in motion and thus, our structures are always in motion.

VALERIE NGAI, DPT, is a Physical Therapist. At the time of publication, Valerie was a 3rd-year Doctorate of Physical Therapy student at NAU. She enjoys both the visual arts and performing arts, but did not pursue them professionally because her parents warned her that making a career out of art would likely involve being hungry. When she is not studying or in the clinic, she enjoys creative writing, hiking, and spending quality time with her friends.

Title: Anatomy of the Human Hand

I wrote this poem for our school’s ceremony of appreciation honoring our anatomy donors. I reflected on the juxtaposition between the significance of my actions and how quickly I became almost desensitized to each week’s dissections. It was important to me this experience be grounded in the humbling knowledge that this man was my first patient and had entrusted his body into my care. I wanted to write a poem considering the robust, sometimes unknowable lives of people outside their identity as “patient.”

NICOLE VARDA is a first-year medical student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine Phoenix. When she’s not studying (or procrastinating studying), she enjoys reading science fiction, writing poetry, spending time with family and friends, and purchasing overpriced coffee at new spots downtown.

Lately, I have been thinking about hands. I was reluctant to touch yours, at first and then onwards.

Worried they would be cold and waxy. Maybe more worried they would feel the same as mine.

I do not want to talk about muscles, tendons, nerves. When I talk about variability, I do not mean the anatomical kind. Forget errant arteries and wayward vessels and misplaced musculature. Take a scalpel to replicable uniformity and allow me to welcome the thought of your individuality.

I want to ask if you wore a wedding band / if you slipped it off in the summer to wash your hands and took note of the faint strip of pale skin / if you popped your knuckles and bit the skin around your nails / if you ever blew a breath on ice-kissed fingertips / if you intertwined them around another’s / if you added milk and sugar to coffee before wrapping them around thousands of mugs for thousands of mornings / if they were steady or shaky / if you played the piano or had messy handwriting / if they braided a grandchild’s hair / if they held a sibling, mother, lover

I am hung-up on hands and hangnails and humanhood. Hours and hours spent examining yours.

Sinewy ligaments shredded, delicate fibers plucked away, stubborn bone unyielding to scissor or blade.

But bones do not tell stories the same way callouses and papercuts and freckles do.

We spend our entire lives grasping, reaching, clenching, caressing. In curiosity, affection, anger, anxiety, excitement, boredom.

Our whole lives, our hands are being held and holding.

I am sorry if I could have handled yours with more care.

Overwhelmed mine were the last yours held.

Grateful for what yours taught me.

Title: “Donor Dissection”

Water color and ink on paper

“Donor Dissection” offers a chance to explore the first year medical rite of passage that is gross anatomy. Styled in the anatomical precision of the standard illustrations of Frank H. Netter, the image depicts a skull in profile and a heart in longitudinal cross-section. The use of water colors allows for a depth in texture, while also referencing the Netter palette of flesh tones. The black ink labels mix anatomical structure with personal traits to emphasize the individual behind the exhaustive learning.

By choosing characteristics based in his own grandmother, the artist reflects on the separation of academic anatomical learning from information about the individual atop the dissection table. It emphasizes the compartmentalization of person from disease that physicians employ to prevent burn out, while personalizing the human connection that is the foundation of the entire profession.

DYLAN SABB, MD, is an alum of the UA College of Medicine-Phoenix, Class of 2020, completed a Family Medicine residency fellowship at UC-Davis. Born in Tucson, Dylan attended Waldorf schools from kindergarten through 12th grade, where the Steiner curriculum reinforced artistic creativity across many mediums from knitting, wood and metal work, to basket-weaving. In addition to other creative outlets since graduating, water color has provided moments to pause, reflect, and appreciate highlights from travels abroad. Dylan is so thankful for the chance to share his artistic endeavors with this wonderful medical community.

Title: Foreign Body

RANDI RUBENZIK, MD, is a dermatologist in Phoenix with interests in art, literature, medicine, parenting, and curiosity in general.

The trick of making your bed while you’re in it. Unmasked, crush a pillow with  your hammering pulse.

Hands scrubbed, nails  cut, hair and branches  tightly tied.

You want to wander, barkstripped, but you don’t. One more procedure.

A day can crumple you, sawing in and out, a kick in the lip. But in sleep, be night’s physician: focus.

Use all the stringy translation available to roll up loose breaths, wrist to elbow, saving them on beeping spools; excise word splinters, looks, hooks, pinch out dripping needles; deliver the soul injection, petrifying sheets, a drought, a draught, marrow infusion, gills flapping, purple leaves twisting, unvoiced. Is the silence yours or not?

Reconfigure this specimen, as engraved as unclaimed driftwood.

Title: Sonoran Junction

A convergence of past and present is represented in an assemblage of handmade pottery and found objects; symbolizing the eternity of life.

LORI REYNOLDS, PhD, OTR/L is a duality of pragmatics and creativity. In her career as teacher, occupational therapist, and gerontologist, she is mostly pragmatic with an undercurrent of creativity. In scattered points along her life she finds time to allow her creativity to flow into tangible forms. Attracted to patterns shapes, and color, Lori enjoys bringing these elements together in the form of collages and assemblages.

Title: expertise

Written some time ago, now feeling relevant.

ANNA LEAH EISNER is an MS1 at UACOMP. She used to write – she now doesn’t write as much, but still writes some.

what am i an expert in –nothing. for to be an expert means to understand a thing on its most primal level, to know what’s beyond the tech-y parts, its mechanism. there is nothing that we can see beyond the atom

(a mecca of sorts, but

does it truly get to the             heart of the matter?) at the heart of the matter –well, a heart. who am I to say that I am an expert in anything aside from my own heart, which, and this matters, is simply matter that i do not understand in its manners. so what am i an expert in? does it matter?

Title: Unexpected Beauty

During a vacation stay at a hotel, I came across a collage of glass blown plates or flowers suspended from the ceiling. I stood under them and took this picture. Sometimes the unexpected situations in life lead to something beautiful and because you didn’t see it coming, it can be even more spectacular.

ADOLPHO NAVARRO is a media specialist and long-time team-member at the University of Arizona College of Medicine-Phoenix. At the time of publication in 2018, he was the Manager of Media Production, and subsequently was promoted to director. Adolpho is currently an award-winning filmmaker/artist who has been creating visual art for over 20 years.

Title: Togetherness

The concept of “Togetherness” is inspiring and beautiful. I thought of music. External sources like music can glue both young and old spirits with the same interest. Reflecting further on the variable channels to bring people together steered me to its foundation, the willingness to be together. I can visualize the rays of respect coupled with acceptance illuminating while highlighting the true value of each one's presence in transforming the concept of Togetherness into a splendid reality.

DR. JOAN FRANCES C. CHUA is a Board-Certified Internist, currently a Part-Time Faculty at the UA COM-Phoenix, Doctoring Program as a Clinical Skills Evaluator and holds a Clinical Assistant Professor title in Internal Medicine. She completed her Internal Medicine Residency Program at St. Francis Medical Center in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She earned her degree in Doctor of Medicine and Surgery at the University of Santo Tomas in Manila, Philippines.

Tabor and pipe ensemble, played to rekindle folks' tradition,

Old feet shuffled to revive the motion.

Gathered in a beat, back-to-backs, hands interlaced,

Exchanging ideas, mirthful with every step aced.

Tattered those doubtful eyes,

Happily collaborating, like a solitary soul.

Engaging the youth with their own interest,

Retaining the respect for each ground and Pinterest.

Navigating the vital emotions in the air,

Ensuring awareness of diverse hormones, swayed to balance to a square,

Setting the ambiance of nurturing acceptance,

Securing the moment for all to enjoy, the importance of each other's presence.

Title: Burnout

During my 3rd year of medical school I have felt like a wooden pencil that has been snapped in half and put together multiple times. I’ve felt more tired, more helpless, and more fragile in each iteration. I’m hoping for the moment that everything comes together again, and I know it will come.

Burnout is real. Balance is essential.

DANIEL OHEB is a 3rd year Medical Student at the University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix.

Title: Water Your Plant

This prose is about self-care and how easy it can be to put off when you have “more important” things to do in your life. It uses the analogy of forgetting to care for a plant to depict how when we make excuses for not practicing self-care regularly, it can be easy to slowly burn out especially in medical school.

KENNEDY SPARLING is a first year medical student at the University of Arizona, College of Medicine – Phoenix. She has always had an admiration for the way writing and poetry can unpack emotions and give abstract notions a space to take shape.

Did you forget to water your plant today?

The soil is dry, but you excuse yourself because the leaves still look fine.

Did you forget to open the blinds today?

The leaves wilt, but you excuse yourself because they still look green.

Did you forget to change the soil today?

The leaves fall, but you excuse yourself because the plant still looks alive.

It’s easy to forget to give your plant the care it needs to grow. It’s even easier to excuse yourself for this deprivation because plants don’t die overnight. And they definitely don’t die because you forgot to do something for one day. But patterns turn into habits. And when we forget to love our plant one day, it becomes even easier to neglect our plant the next. Sure, your plant may survive. But for how long?

The same applies when you forget to love and care for yourself. You also may survive. But for how long? When we make excuses and ignore our needs, we restrict our growth and slowly contribute to our eventual destruction. Your mind, body, and soul don’t deserve just to “get by.” They deserve to thrive. So take the time and give yourself what you need to grow. Stop forgetting to water your plant.

Title: Still Life Flowers

What I enjoy about painting is the surprises. As I paint, I might consciously be working toward some goal. Beyond awareness, my mind has been working out the piece on a subconscious level. In this way I have an awareness of myself I would not otherwise know.

JONATHAN CARTSONIS, MD, is a Family Medicine physician in practice for over two decades. For over a decade he has enrolled in art classes. On a couple of occasions he has raced out of the studio to deliver a baby and amazingly returned in time to paint for another hour.

Title: Love Thy Enemy

This poem was inspired by a quote from Khalil Gibran, one of the most prolific contemporary poets from the Middle East. “And God said, 'Love your enemy,' and I obeyed him and loved myself.” Wherever you escape to, you’ll find yourself there too.

NATALIE NABATY is a medical student from the class of 2025 at The University of Arizona College of Medicine – Phoenix. Between playing guitar, dancing traditional Assyrian line dances, learning about global health, and serving the community, writing is a skill she is happy to refine while in medical school.

My greatest enemy stares me down, Every morning, They make me carry their weight, their 25-kilo check-in too, And sometimes, While I trudge to work I, Catch a glimpse: Sitting on my shoulders in the amorphous— Reflection in the windows, Rippling by, They exacerbate my shadow, Especially deep in the night, When no one is around to see the difference.

One day--another nondescript Sunday, I shifted my weight from stilted toe to toe, Attempting to alleviate the ache, Of this heaviness imperceptible, In the choral stands.

I was unaccustomed to this new mass, On my neck during the old mass, Where old men pontificate, The latest iteration of a hypocrite, In white robes and fool’s gold, Raising two outstretched palms, To God,

And when I waited for nonsense to escape , Pursed lips, he said, “love thy enemy.”

I sat with words asinine, Only one cervical atlas to hold the weight, Of this cranial planet, Meant to decipher this claim, Amidst all the cognitive turmoil, All the tired and pain, Though I’ve been a sharp girl, I thought to become broad and dull To excavate myself from the viscous sludge Just for a day

Try it out after years of delay

So I obeyed the pontifex and began to love myself

Title: Lotus in Bloom

As a flower that blossoms in murky waters, the lotus has become a spiritual symbol for enlightenment. In my painting, I used the lotus to reflect the potential of finding positive attributes in areas and situations where we might not expect them. As the light falls around the lotus, it is illuminated in the dusk of day. The message behind this piece is that the things we long for that give our lives meaning – hope, fulfillment, connections – can be found in every moment of our lives if we choose to see them.

MONICA CHAUNG, MD, is an alum of the UA College of Medicine-Phoenix Class of 2022. Prior to medical school, she also received a B.S. in Molecular and Cellular Biology and a minor in East Asian studies from the University of Arizona.

Growing up, every nook and cranny of her room was filled with crayons, markers and Sharpie pens. She is now living her childhood dream of keeping her art and writing alive by using any excuse to pick up her sketchpad. She is inspired by the lives she meets every day, and uses her brush and pen to celebrate her patients’ stories.

Title: My Own Song

I wrote this poem when I first started medical school. I felt a weird pressure to seek out alternative career paths because the specialty I want to go into is known as one of the more challenging ones to match into. However, after taking a good look in the mirror, I knew that I wouldn’t be happy trying to force myself to do something I care significantly less about. This poem is a tribute to me choosing my own path, regardless of the potential obstacles I may face.

KENNEDY SPARLING is a first year medical student at the University of Arizona, College of Medicine – Phoenix. She has always had an admiration for the way writing and poetry can unpack emotions and give abstract notions a space to take shape.

I danced to a song

I didn’t agree to I sang to a melody

I didn’t decide on

I wrote to a structure

I didn’t approve of Until I stopped.