Student Voices of COVID-19
Poetry
Hope is around the bend
Casey P. Schukow
Recently, I saw some images;
I almost couldn’t comprehend;
But then I paused and had a wondrous thought;
That hope is around the bend.
It was of many cheering fans, who filled the stands;
At the PGA Championship, and Indy 500 race;
Over Memorial Day weekend, I realized;
That hope is in a not-so-distant place.
Since March of 2020, COVID-19;
Swept through our nation in a vicious rampage;
Cases and deaths climbed out of control;
Locking hope away in a cage.
Families were torn and masks have been worn;
To slow this virus’s spread;
But as vaccines take effect, I must recollect;
That hope has been brought back from the dead.
It seems we are turning a corner;
In a fight which appeared lost and wizen;
Seeing the faces of those jubilant fans;
Proved to me that hope is on the horizon.
Attending medical school throughout this pandemic;
Has been a unique experience, nonetheless;
As quarantines, and lockdowns, and potential exposures;
Put my sense of hope to the test.
There have been many days, I must admit;
This pandemic left me beaten and bruised;
But staying connected with my peers and loved ones;
Kept hope alive in the news.
While this pandemic is far from over;
Signs are apparent that one day it will end;
So let’s continue to rejoice, fight, and be patient;
Because hope is around the bend.
Casey P. Schukow
Michigan State University College of Osteopathic Medicine
Class of 2022
From the Sidelines
Jin Kyung Kim
As a third year medical student waiting for the transition from pre-clinical didactic learning to hands-on clinical learning, I was faced with an unexpected halt in my long awaited clinical training with the onset of COVID-19. I wondered what best I could do as a student without any licensure in medicine as I read about the brave front-line healthcare workers I aspire to be. One of the ways I chose to utilize this uncertain time in-between online electives is to enlist myself as a volunteer for the Virginia Medical Reserve Corps. My application was marked as a “non-medical volunteer” as a student without a medical license and I expected to help with administrative items. When I showed up for my first assignment as a language interpreter for Korean at a local county COVID-19 drive-thru screening site, I was fitted in extensive personal protective equipment and the reality of this pandemic suddenly hit me. The following poem in iambic pentameter with rhyme scheme is a reflection of my experience as a medical student yearning to be of help during this pandemic from the sidelines at a COVID-19 screening site.
Some wore medical grade clean in all white
Some wore fashion studded with polka dots
Some wore a bandana wrapped around tight
Some wore a piece of an old shirt in knots
Some born in the sixties like my own mom
Some leaned as thin as their own walking cane
Some young students who should have been at prom
Some in strollers with their blue toy airplane
Some did not need me to translate the form
Some asked me for my language assistance
Some approached me close I could feel their warmth
Some made my voice grow hoarse from a distance
Some told me they have never been sick, ever
Some said they lost their sense of taste and smell
Some revealed shortness of breath and fever
Some scrolled through the news and felt more unwell
We all stood under the Virginia sun:
A line of over a thousand patients,
Tables of nurses faced them one-on-one,
Volunteers united under patience
I stood drenched in sweat writing intake forms,
In N95, gown, gloves, and face shield,
Hoping I made no mistakes on the forms,
My own fears of infection well concealed
I stood wondering and dripping with sweat
When will I finally start my third year?
As a student without a license yet,
Am I at all making a difference here?
Jin Kyung Kim
Virginia Commonwealth University School of Medicine
Class of 2022
The Mask
Alisha Poppen
Wearing a mask has become a sign of utmost empathy one can show to another
We do not wear a mask to protect our self, but rather to protect others
It is an implicit statement of love, not fear
I wear my mask to prevent the spread of the virus that can make you sick
Not because I think everyone around me has the virus and wants to infect me
Not because I am afraid of the virus
I wear my mask to comfort you, not to make you feel apprehensive
I wear my mask as a solider in this war against a microscopic threat that spares nobody
It is armor
Six feet apart and a piece of fabric to cover our face
It is all that we have to protect life and prevent death
No borders that separate us, no vaccine to save us
No person too big or too small, too rich or too poor, too red or too blue is immune
We all play for the same team
The mask, a symbol of unity, a symbol of hope and a symbol of love
Alisha Poppen
University College of Cork, Ireland
Class of 2022
Am I Useful?
Nicholas Bellacicco
A dusty white coat is what I see
When will I get an opportunity?
To serve and love like I know best
Giving my all, and nothing less.
“Am I useful?” I often think
As I watch my mentors start to sink
I hear of fear in wards I thought immune
Sincere prayers that this be over soon.
We are pulled in two opposite directions
One of battle another of hesitation
We remain at home and do what we know
Reading books until the sun goes low.
Our futures uncertain, our careers in limbo
Secure behind a closed window
We see it all as we shelter in place
Should I take a mask, or would that be a waste?
Nicholas Bellacicco
Lake Erie College of Osteopathic Medicine at Bradenton
Class of 2021
As the Toll Rises
Rohan Rao
This is a reflective piece about my time volunteering in northern New Jersey in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic. I worked as a specimen collector at a drive-thru testing site.
A cold, gloomy day was upon us, as we arrived
at the testing site. The sun was hiding
behind ominous storm clouds, as if it too felt
the unease that bloomed within me.
By a pale white tent,
whose flaps thrashed wildly in the wind,
we donned our protective gear.
Tent B was our assignment. Specimen collection was our role.
A gaggle of new, partially obscured faces,
we unsaddled our unfamiliarity to shoulder a shared purpose.
Swimming, though more aptly it felt like drowning,
through a sea of PPE, emotions were lost beneath the swell.
A tide washing away smiles, ushering in
a foam of gravitas onto our beaches.
With our expressiveness swept off,
a double-gloved thumbs up would have to do.
Cars arrived, in a trickle that quickly transformed
to a gushing stream. How fitting it was then, that
the sky began to shed tears on the passengers inside,
all anxiously awaiting their turn for testing.
To them, we were a spectacle. Aliens in our white protective suits.
Our approach induced eyes to widen or fingers to hit “record,”
even an audible gasp as I wielded the nasal swab.
“That goes where?!” she exclaimed. “I think you poked my brain,”
remarked another. But after ten seconds,
which accordingly felt like ten years, they were done and on their way.
With the last car swabbed, we doffed our gear,
careful not to expose ourselves and end up in that very same line of cars.
We laughed jovially, and recounted our dreary morning,
before going our separate ways.
But frequently, I find myself back in that parking lot,
watching the cars drive off, wondering how their stories ended.
Day by day, as I see the rising death toll in my state,
I strive to maintain my hopefulness, and stave off
that defeated sigh.
Rohan Rao
Rutgers-Robert Wood Johnson Medical School
Class of 2021
White Noise
Devanshi Shah, MBBS
The bed is being emptied in front of me.
I sigh, I ponder.
Yesterday his vitals were improving
And today his oxygen tumbled.
He didn't open his eyes.
Neither did his wife, apparently,
In the room next door.
I close my eyes too, the sight too much for me to bear.
There's white noise all around me, a silence which screams, an agony only I can hear.
When I remove my mask at the end of the shift,
The lines are etched in my face.
Not the lines of the mask, no,
Lines of worry around my eyes,
Frowns on my forehead.
I look like I have aged from 24 to 42,
With every death adding a year to my age.
Around me, there's only white noise,
Only weak wails from the heartbroken.
I remove my gown carefully,
A bath from head to toe,
As if the water can rinse the memories,
Which the day has left in me.
As if the soap can erase the claw marks,
Which Death leaves in its wake.
Even when the water tumbles down from the faucet,
I hear nothing, only white noise.
My heart beats erratically,
Everytime I pass by the ER,
Who will come in now?
Friend or foe?
Will I have to see them in the ICU?
It's as if my breaths are getting shallower,
As my mind rushes through the last few days,
Wives praying, children consoling,
Tears escaping, and hands shuddering.
No goodbyes were said, there were no sounds, only white noise all around.
I return the next day,
It's hotter than usual, as I don the gown,
Sweat trickles down my forehead,
In anticipation of more deaths.
My chest tightens at thoughts,
Of how dark and empty their eyes look,
As they stare Death in the face.
Even when I'm pumping oxygen into their unwilling lungs,
I'm trying, I'm trying.
I'm shouting, pleading them to come back,
But they can't hear me, it's only white noise all around.
As the cursed clock's hands ticked by,
Nearing noon again,
I decided to confront my demons.
It was what I'd suspected.
I lay down in the very bed I'd seen being emptied,
After all, the very disease I fought against,
Came back to me with vengeance.
I don't close my eyes, worried,
That it might be the last time I open them.
On the other side of the wall,
I see my mother saying something.
She says, she's praying for me.
I wish I could hear her right now.
But it's all white noise around me.
Devanshi Shah, MBBS
Seth GS Medical College and KEM Hospital, Mumbai
Class of 2020
in all my silence
Yasmine Abbey
Written in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, this poem focuses on the strange way in which old memories come flooding back to one's consciousness, especially amidst all this time and self-isolation. It is important to read the poem from the bottom left ("in all my silence and freedom..the darkest parts of me") and work your way up. That is how I intended the poem to be read, but of course you can read it from top to bottom and perhaps the meaning may change (or it may not).
Will this ever be over
And will I ever be free?
the busyness of my mind
no longer a reprieve
spiriting forward
they lay palpable & grotesque
black & enshrouding
the memories
haunt me
scale the depths
of which I had submerged
In all my silence and freedom
the darkest parts of me
Yasmine Abbey
UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine
Class of 2022
Holding On
Anna Delamerced
Gloved hands. I wonder if there are
Wrinkles from decades worth of
Injecting a needle of lidocaine
To ease the patient’s pain from surgery
Invasive, tearing at the fascia
Blue, gray. Whatever color it is
Masks their grief, the smiles they
Long to show to the fearful.
Large, small. Whatever size it is
Hides blue veins, scars and dry skin.
We live in times where holding someone’s hand
Could be fatal, deadly. I look back to the times
I was too afraid to reach out and hold someone’s hand
Laying there, supine, right before the push of anesthesia
I could have offered to let them grip my hand as hard as they could
Until slowly the numbing sensation bids them to let go
Where for a moment we are neither
Patient nor medical student, but two people
In the thick of a storm hanging onto the boat
Gripping the wooden rails, searching for an anchor
Anna Delamerced
Warren Alpert Medical School at Brown University
Class of 2021
Neuro during COVID-19
Sarah Cheema
“Can you hear me?”
A strange new greeting
as my peers gather around
silent, watching.
“Can you see this?”
A tiny arrow lingers
over a minuscule artery.
I try to imagine where that might fit
in my brain.
“Follow my finger.”
I watch her eyes,
thousands of miles away,
hoping to catch any deviation.
How odd, as I play doctor
learning to heal
that which we cannot
see, hear, or touch.
Or perhaps, it is fitting.
Sarah Cheema
TCU and UNTHSC School of Medicine
Class of 2023
Virtual Praise
Zachary Kahlenberg
Even from within this prism,
All around I see acts of heroism,
My love, I have not felt her touch in days,
Through a glass screen I try to give her praise,
For she is doing what I cannot,
She even does it without a second thought,
With gear that can no longer be bought.
Zachary Kahlenberg
UTHSCSA Long School of Medicine - San Antonio
Class of 2021
Anticipating
Palak Patel
Watching
Pushes the dial of my clock
Yet pulls me in
With a shut door behind me
Waiting
For a signal of freedom
An alert of good news
To notify me of the end
Listening
To the waxing and waning
Of sirens headed to where
I used to walk to school
Thinking
It may be another month
Months
Of this solitude
Questioning
If my distance from others
Could even compare to
A patient’s from their family
Feeling
Guilt from my lack of action
Reminding my mind
Staying home is helping
Observing
The panic that easily ensues
And yet most of their panic
Is rightfully earned
Knowing
The glory for healthcare is broad
And consideration is needed
For the exposed custodians too
Anticipating
Until next time when it’ll be me
On the frontlines
Fighting
Palak Patel
Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine
Class of 2023
Shelter in Place
Wesley Chou
I hit the ground running, I tear down the street,
Needing to leave my musty room and its
Stale air. The rain is lifting and my shoes
Spray grey water up from the asphalt.
I run to the creek, its gentle trickle now
Turgid and engorging its former banks,
Consigned to a dull, endless roar. Even now,
The specter of people gasping
For breath remains, lungs
Bogged down by scum and pus.
I feel something well up in my chest,
Spider outwards, fury tearing
Through detached surveys of
Our foe’s armaments and its sketches of death
To which I have devoted myself
With growing obsession and unease.
I want to scream into the void of the insolent grey skies,
I demand lightning to rip apart
The very ground on which I stand, to grant this
Rage the canvas it so deserves
Before I callously rend it to shreds.
Damned be this foe that has laid us low,
Condemned many to die alone, and
Starved us from a friend’s touch.
I slow to a halt in the overgrown fields of a golf course,
Breath shuddering and supported on legs of cloth.
I take in the sights around me:
Countless mallards glide in a flooded depression.
A herd of deer gaze serenely at their new guest before
Nipping at the matted grass.
I watch their delicate gait as they meander to some trees,
How they perch on hind legs to reach the branches.
I watch for some time, before
I turn around and run upstream.
Wesley Chou
Harvard Medical School
Class of 2022
When it’s all over
Anonymous
When it’s all over
We will all know someone
or sometwo
or too many
I can’t say things were innocent before
That the world was a simpler place
It wasn’t.
If anything,
It is now that things are simple:
Everything unrelated is extraneous
The world on Pause
Our realities merged
And when it’s all over
It won’t really be over
It will be a scar
Somehow devoid of sensation
Yet calling to memory the excruciating pain
The waiting to hear that he has developed a cough
Or she has a fever to 103
Sirens through empty streets,
the endlessness of it all