For me, there are two reasons. The first is that this blog is cathartic. It is a release every week to be able to put my thoughts to paper (or keyboard). It has been a way to vent my frustrations, celebrate the wonderful journey, and allow my mother to know what I'm doing without having to call home every day (I love you, Mom). Writing has been a way of dealing with the day to day, good and bad. Secondly, I have thoroughly enjoyed looking back and realizing how little I knew a year or two ago. This blog has been a way of charting growth, keeping a journal, and reflecting how I can continue to improve as a physician and as a person. So that is why I write. Hopefully this is also good practice for the future, as I would love for writing to become an ongoing ritual, both in the public and private setting.
In discussing medical literature, we were asked to read several short stories and poems. One of the articles included an exercise in "55 word stories." These were written by students, residents, and physicians, attempting to tell a story in just a few words (55 to be exact). Each of us tried our hand at this style, using our clinical experiences from the past year to paint small portraits of the indelible moments we've encountered. I have shared a number of these experiences as weekly posts, but there are so many more that I wish to capture and hold onto. I want to share one here, using the 55 word format.
Unprepared
"You have lung cancer," I said. "It's not pneumonia."
"Wow, cancer. That's pretty heavy, man."
No tears, no anger. He just sat there and nodded.
I have never broken the news to a patient that he has cancer.
"But I never smoked."
Please cry. I can't bear your stoic acceptance.
He was 31 years old.
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