A Different Perspective: My Valentine’s Gift

I wrote a poem just for you, Even though I knew you knew. That my love grows bolder each day, Whether we’re together or far away.

As we wait for our little gift, We prepare, we move, we thrift. I’ll never forget the scary ER trip; That one-sided pain made me lose my grip. I cried and cried and prayed the whole way. After 4 hours, the providers saved the day. I saw our baby as I held my breath; That little heart beating dissolved what worry was left. Then we resumed our daily routine, Mainly indoors due to quarantine.

I watch you and my brother, George, laughing aloud, Creating memories of you horse-playing about. Not upset over the ruined pillows and broken dishes, Your friendly bond answered many of my wishes.

I am grateful he has a brother at last, The 6 foot 14-year-old who grew up too fast. Just yesterday I carried him in my arms, Won over by giggles and toddler charms. Who I once ran with on my shoulders, Now I’m the boss giving him orders. How to adult, and cook, and scrub a pan, Watching George grow into a fine man. With different routines we go about our day, Ready to help each other along the way. Enjoying the sleep we’ll surely miss, Madly in love after Baby’s first kiss. For now there’s so much to be done, By grace, complaining there is none. No rest for the weary, but that’s fine, Every effort will be worth it in time. The crib still needs setting up, Still board studying, I can’t give up.

I get tired and overwhelmed; You come over and as I am held, I am reminded God brought us together. We can withstand the trials and weather. A tale of love as old as time.

Another year I ask, will you be my Valentine?

This poem shows an individual student’s perspective. It is superficial and lighthearted without many of the deeper concerns that you are about to read. I believe it is important to share our stories in order to help others and to normalize challenges faced by different student populations. Anybody can face a unique situation: minority, majority, traditional, or non-traditional students. It is a humanizing experience for us when we attempt to relate and learn from one another.

Student parents and student guardians are a minority group that is underrepresented, especially in literature. Pregnancy in school is often regarded as something to avoid at all costs as the ultimate undesirable event. For me, choosing to have a child was an empowering and much awaited decision. However, that’s not my whole story. Yes. My pregnancy is celebrated and significant. However, it remains a rather minor part of my story as a medical student. Baby or not, my other priorities are still there. I am an osteopathic student trying to keep up with my OMM skills; I am board studying; I have just joined a research study; and I am highly involved with my family. My husband and I shoulder our school responsibilities while managing our own health issues, the illnesses of our aging parents, and while raising my teenage brother. Can’t quite imagine being in my shoes? A few years ago, neither could I. I am writing this story to encourage others facing complex or unique situations. We have a voice. We are capable and we are resilient. We are able to accomplish extraordinary things; not due to having some special ability, but because we find ourselves in the position where it is our only option.

This is my real-life experience of planning to get pregnant as a married medical student while caring for a minor. Pregnancy had been on my mind since I got married over 5 years ago. I spoke with others in the field who are at varied stages of their training and read numerous blogs on the topic. The advice I received surprised me. Many parent physicians admitted that while medical school isn’t easy, it can be the least complicated and most flexible time to have a baby. After considering all the advice and praying about our decision and circumstance, we decided to start trying. After a year, we succeeded in getting pregnant. We still had many unanswered questions. How do we raise a child and go to class? Would I have to put medical school on hold? With finances stretched thin as it is, would we have to take out $20-30K in loans to hire a full-time nanny? Ultimately, the answers would come with time and research. For the moment, we were overjoyed and thankful. We decided to tackle each issue with preparation and remembering that we were not alone. Since we both face very rigorous academic obligations, we realized that we would need to build a village of support. I met with SPOM (the student parent organization on campus), academic advising, and spoke with family about our situation. Finally, our new issues started to feel more manageable. The more tools, scholarships, and resources we add now to our support group, the better prepared we will be when the time comes.

Ultimately, my daily focus is still that of any other student. Like my classmates, I study and do my best to clean, cook, and stay active. We are all facing a pandemic, caring for our mental health, and striving to drink from the knowledge firehose. Recalling my first day of medical school, I realize our different backgrounds are one more attribute that can help us in our shared vision. Each unique perspective can strengthen the healthcare team by allowing us to connect with patients facing their own unique challenges and realities.

- Izabela Birsanescu, OMS-II, MSUCOM

Balance from Within, Unity

-medium: acrylic paint

Returning to balance is not a finite state because life’s dualities keep emerging and when welcoming all dimensions of each experience or state, we remember the wholeness within that is untouched by these changes. COVID-19 has exemplified the nature of balance, as the outside world is full of chaos and it feels like we have to choose 'a side' and yet it’s all co-existing, which this piece depicts with the yin and yang united by an infinity symbol.

- Medium: Digital Art

An altogether common experience in both medical school and life mid-pandemic. Feeling disconnected and lost, as if you’re losing any semblance of who you once were. You fall, and you think you’ve reached the bottom, but then you fall some more.

One of us had to do it. It was my turn to accept the assignment – cover the nursery, as we say in pediatrics, and take call from anxious parents whose nice children had caught some naughty diseases at the wrong time. It would mean that the dogs and I would be alone and the party would be elsewhere. There was no way to drive from there to the hospital and back in time, and the calls – at all hours of the night – would be a gift of interrupted sleep that no one wished for.

It could have been worse. Usually there’s snow in this season of year and sometimes ice that makes driving very dicey, but it was in the forties almost every day. So, a car with sturdy tires replaced my riding in a sleigh. At first the call was brutal – the phone kept ringing, concerns stacked up upon my desk, and, somehow, a trip to the nursery still had to be worked in. For sure, there were a few moments of doubt. But calls slacked off, and I made it safely to the hospital, where every room of newborn joy filled ready hearts before I turned to travel home.

As the conversations with parents continued through the day, something else occurred. A mutual sense of gratitude emerged, because I was there to help them and the lines between us blurred. A kindred spirit joined each chat as they and I conferred. The questions in the nursery and the answers I supplied had relieved the sense of doubt, and my advice for parents in their homes helped spread a welcome calm. I gave them confidence. They gave me meaning. Face to face and on the phone, we were no more alone.

This Christmas had its sadness, the first one by myself, but, my children called and the grandchildren even thanked me for my cards and gifts! Added to the care I offered there was a fine balance to the day. And, I saw firsthand what matters most - the heartfelt gift that eases pain, and points to joy, unwraps a blessing for the host.

- Hiram Stephen Williams, M.D., M.P.H. Professor of Pediatrics Emeritus, MSUCOM

There’s this word in the medical field that’s said often: balance. The balance between work life and home life. Things you love and things you want. Time for friends and time for yourself. These were all topics of discussion I had with fellow medical students as well as other healthcare practitioners, and there was always an invisible scale in the midst of these discussions. Making enough money at work for my family on one side of the scale, and spending quality time with my family on the other. A career that pays well enough to chip away at my student loans, and a career that I truly enjoy. The invisible scale of balance that stuck out the most to me though revolved around patient care.

As future doctors, we’re taught to do more than what is asked for the patient. To advocate. To fight. To do what’s right. What’s taught far less are the counterposing rules, restrictions, and downsides. We want to educate patients regarding the nuances of all of their conditions to provide the most individualized care; emphasize to patients the necessity of follow-up appointments; explore every necessary lab, screening, or imaging modality to provide the most accurate diagnosis and health status even if cost-prohibitive; convince insurance to cover expensive but efficacious treatment options; and engage in outreach to better improve the health of the community at large. Yet, all of these goals take time. It could mean seeing one less patient that receives treatment, one less patient for whom the hospital (and you) could bill, one additional hour at work meaning one less hour spent with loved ones, or one less hour of free time or sleep. All of this accumulates over time. And time is truly money.

How do we balance the scale? How do you balance the scale for the patients you see? For the hospital you work in?

How do you balance the scale for your own life? These are the questions that I ask myself, the questions that I’m sure all of my friends and colleagues ask themselves. I hope that we will all find that answer, that balance.

Optimism

Upon departing, a leaf unseals the promise of the twig

- Hiram Stephen Williams, M.D., M.P.H. Professor of Pediatrics Emeritus, MSUCOM