Trying to keep a balance between the things that define me and the things that I define.
I choose how I want to spend my days. Am I making the right choices? I am a product of my desires — the balance between the life that I dream of and the life that I live.
Each decision a drop in the ocean, its impact downstream sending ripples out in motion.
As I sit and hesitate, the waves dissipate, still questioning my fate.
Back and forth, I circulate, seeking peace of mind but often finding decline. Thoughts scatter, leave me riven to each, a “piece of mind” given.
Bizarre ideas, distant memories wander in a maze of irregularity. Despite the ever-changing walls, who am I to find some clarity?
But you can’t rush greatness, it takes time to simmer. The clouds have to move before the light can shimmer.
To watch it all unfold is a story to be told, a story to be written and I hold the quill. There’s far too much to understand, but I will never stop this. The more I live, the more I know. It’s all part of the process.
Name: Vincent Sotirov
Cohort: 2023
Hometown: Sparta, NJ
Description of the work: This poem is a collection of ideas meant to represent my ongoing journey of growth and self-discovery. In medical school and life beyond, there is a lot of self governing but consequently, a struggle to make meaningful choices that end up defining your life on the road ahead. There is a contrast between the life we dream and the reality of our lives to get there. Medical school exaggerates that quest and requires a sort of ongoing adaptation to seeking clarity. But there is a need for patience and persistence, recognizing that you are the one still in control.
Bio: Vincent Sotirov is an M2 at HMSOM still exploring specialty interests. Witha background in neuroscience, he enjoys writing poetry informally as a creative outlet. A lover of the outdoors, Vincent can often be found running, biking, hiking, or swimming. Driven by a passion for self-improvement and self-discovery, he is excited to contribute to Ripple and connect with fellow readers and writers.
Cogito, ergo sum.
Medicine is a state of mind,
an all consuming practice.
Even as a student in training,
conversations with sick loved ones
are forever changed. I can
no longer simply offer sympathies
and move on. They look to me
for translations and hope and I
am driven by forces deep within me
to provide them solace even though
all I can muster are clumsy analogies
for concepts I am still
trying to understand myself.
To become is to endure.
From the moment we take
this solemn oath, we are wholly
transformed. Paper cuts become
the coagulation cascade. We become
confidants, investigators, and healers.
Cogito, ergo sum.
But I am still learning
how to think, how to be.
Becoming is agonizing,
like eons of waves eroding
rocky shores into grains of sand.
Like the solitude of metamorphosis
in a cocoon. Takotsubo syndrome
is dying of a broken heart and
heartstrings are called chordae tendineae.
But the more I learn about medicine,
the less I know about myself.
Growing pains in my nerves and bones
Poring over every inch of the body,
every tortuous artery only
to lose myself in pathology.
Cogito, ergo sum.
I question my heartbeat
and muddle my identity.
I’ve turned into a palimpsest of sorts:
absorbing parts of whoever inspires me
trying on personalities and passions,
but nothing fits quite just yet.
To become is to let go.
I know which way my blood flows
from vena cavae to right atrium.
But I’ve forgotten what makes me
feel alive and whole.
Perhaps my becoming will never end.
New editions, eternal revisions:
lifelong learning.
Name: Hajra Jamal
Cohort: 2023
Hometown: Jersey City, NJ
Brief Description: Poem about growing pains in medicine
Bio: Hajra Jamal is an M2 at HMSOM interested in pediatrics. During college she completed a personalized major with a concentration in narrative medicine. She is excited to contribute to Ripple and the culture of art and medicine at the SOM. She also enjoys cooking and learning her mother tongue, Urdu.
I was ushered into the dimly lit room
I stood still
As flurries of motion whirled around me
I felt unsure of myself
Am I supposed to be here?
Not sure what to expect
As I looked at the scene of the expecting
My eyes focused on the patient
Her body twisted so
Face against the bedding
Crying out
Agony
Clutching the hand of her beloved
I couldn’t help but think
Of my mother
Of all maternals
Holding a delicate beginning inside her
As I shifted between realities
Past and present
I sink further into the ground
From minutes to seconds to moments
The final pushes
Each one accumulating like clouds
The clouds suddenly part
A beacon of light shines
A new higher pitched cry resounds through and through
My soul soaring
I felt the flood of several new beginnings
Cascading into each other
A continuum
Of sacrifices
Past and present
And their prospective bearings
Because as I look into the mirror
I see women of my blood
I see the reflection of my younger self
Keen and bright-eyed
I feel a sense of advocacy and empowerment
As I steadfastly intertwine career and passion
Here’s to better new beginnings
Name: Sanjana Sharma
Cohort: 2023
Hometown: Basking Ridge, NJ
Description of the work: This was my first shadowing experience of medical school, and I am so grateful to have experienced this delicate moment in the Labor and Delivery unit. I recall how my heart soared at the moment of the birth, and henceforth have used that as a core memory to fuel my medical journey. As a physician, I hope to advocate for equity in women’s reproductive health.
Bio: Sanjana Sharma is a second year medical student who grew up in the small, peaceful town of Basking Ridge, New Jersey. She attended the University of California, San Diego where she explored the intersection of the academic pursuits of human biology and her passion for literary works. Her place of solitude is reading a book in her backyard or at a coffee shop. As a physician, Sanjana aspires to someday author and publish her own original written works.
He must have been placed with his left side down
in the body bag. Lividity had set in, and his body
was bisected by color.
Left side purple. Right side blanched.
His decorations were left attached for the autopsy:
Endotracheal tube x1.
Interosseous lines x3.
Peripheral intravenous line in foot x1.
Scalp intravenous line x1.
Jejunostomy tube x2.
Each tube and line was methodically removed, leaving
tiny holes. Some oozed dark blood. Some didn’t.
The endotracheal tube was removed, and I heard
a small puff of air from his lips.
They took photos of the marks.
The holes. The oozing blood.
They opened him up, a big Y
Carved into his chest.
They poked and prodded, examining
each organ carefully in its place.
The organs were assessed, then cut loose
from the body wall. They measured,
weighed and photographed.
I stared into the empty chest and abdomen.
The whites of the vertebral column reflected back.
“What exactly are you looking for?,” I asked the pathologist.
“A pearl of wisdom,” they responded.
A straight line was cut over the top
of the head from ear to ear.
Cobwebs of fascia dusted away
between the skin and cranium.
Soon enough, the skin from the top of his head
reflected forwards over his face and backwards
like a scarf over the nape of his neck.
His suture lines were shucked open,
the cranium giving way to his brain.
As his head moved, cerebrospinal fluid
trickled over the surface
and the organ glistened.
The cranium was reclined into a tub of water
and the brain floated out, still
anchored by cranial nerves.
We inspected the brain.
Measured, weighed, and photographed.
Then set aside for a formalin bath.
The pathologist closed the chest
with sterile towels, so the torso didn’t collapse
back to the vertebrae. Y incisions fell
back into place.
Cranial bones were lifted upwards,
more sterile towels filled an empty
cranial vault. Skin flaps returned
to the crown of the head.
He was put back together.
Inside out.
Outside whole.
Inside empty.
Name: Allison Brown
Cohort: 2020
Hometown: Danville, CA
Description of the work: Dealing with the emotions of participating in the autopsy of a young child from start (opening) to finish (closing).
Bio: Allison is a recent graduate of HMSOM and is now at Stanford University for residency in neurology. She hopes to make time to reflect and write more during residency and is looking forward to reading Ripple submissions from SOM students in the years to come.
These words are carved into my soul
These memories tangle with the grooves of my spirit
They consume me, and I fall, forever deeper
Until—I crash, gasping and clutching the ground beneath me
Has all the air gone from my lungs? Or is trapped, unable to flee?
In a moment, my field of vision is black
I come to on a rainy Monday in late March
Gazing into my bleeding hands as I clutch the fragments of my last few months
Slicing my fingers on the shards each time I try to reassemble my shattered dreams
In the darkness, I grieve for what could have been
I sit silently, surrounded by the carnage of my last few months
Questioning whether this is where I’m meant to be
What I did not see on that rainy Monday in March were the shadows
Waiting to bandage my wounds and pull me to my feet
Gathering the fragments until I’m ready to face them
When I’m ready to embrace the remnants of what was, the sun breaks through the clouds
Illuminating the faces of my loved ones who held vigil
Waiting for the light to creep back through my cracks
I sift through my pieces, amazed by the way they shine
I trace the forming scars on my hands, deciphering these new landmarks
They comprise the path that will lead me forward
These words are painted on my soul
These memories caress the grooves of my spirit
They lift me, and I soar—following the unexplored road where it takes me
Name: Susannah LaPointe
Cohort: 2024
Hometown: Stamford, CT
Description of the work: A self-reflection on surviving personal crisis during medical school.
Bio: Susannah LaPointe is an M1 interested in Geriatrics, Palliative Care, and women’s health. She loves a good mystery, and she prides herself in being a grammar nerd. In her spare time, she bakes, crafts, and tries to convince herself that she enjoys running. She graduated from Tufts University, where she studied Biopsychology and Child Study & Human Development and volunteered as a medical advocate with the Boston Area Rape Crisis Center.
I used to hate my large hands
Long fingers, broad palms, ring size 8
Scarred from surgeries
Masculine, conspicuous
But as I scoop the warm placenta
To bring it across the delivery room
I do not fear slip, drop, failure—
These hands are big enough.
They will hold.
Name: Maya J. Sorini (she/her)
Cohort: 2021
Hometown: Rockville, MD
Bio: Maya J. Sorini is a narrative medicine scholar, medical student, essayist, and poet. Her first collection, The Boneheap in the Lion's Den, won the 2023 Press 53 Award for Poetry. Maya has a master's degree and has taught in Columbia University's Narrative Medicine program, and continues to work as a freelance Narrative Medicine workshop facilitator and lecturer. Her work has appeared in many arts and medical journals, including the Journal of the American Medical Association, The Journal of Medical Humanities, Intima Magazine, and Doxy's Op Med. Maya is a fourth year medical student at Hackensack Meridian School of Medicine applying for emergency medicine residency.
Chicken noodle soup tastes best
eaten with a soup spoon
from the university cafeteria.
The same cafeteria I dined in
and committed petty crimes in
is where I end up when I sit
rewinding the tapes.
Looking at my reflection
in the curved surface of the spoon
I am seeing myself, past and present.
At eighteen and at twenty two,
when, without intending to,
I packed a soup spoon
from the university cafeteria,
along with the rest of my dorm.
So strange what physical things
we accidentally carry with us,
like scars from injuries we don't remember
that remind us of the injuries we do.
In the time that passed between
the girl from the spoon's reflection
and now, there were many bowls
of chicken noodle soup. And at twenty six,
when I look at my reflection again,
I will know that in five years, maybe ten,
all that I learned could never fit
in the soup spoon
from my university cafeteria.
But it would fit
in its reflection.
Name: Priya Bhave (she/her)
Cohort: 2022
Hometown: East Brunswick, NJ
Bio: Priya Bhave is a third year medical student at HMSOM from East Brunswick, New Jersey. Prior to medical school, she worked as a physician assistant in a medically underserved area. She developed a passion for primary care and healthcare accessibility and uses writing as a way to express herself. Her other interests include running, watercolor painting, and origami.
Your shaky thumb pulls microliters up —
unseasoned hands clammy under blue gloves.
Breath against your polypropylene mask
drifts up to fog the view; you stand,
a mixture of churning stomach acid
and curses clenched between teeth, teetering
on the verge of syncope. Carrying over
this DNA-loaded nib, a cramp spurts
from the base of your hand.
Elbow resting firm, you descend,
piercing into an empty well. Dye-tinged
wisps of code float in buffer before settling
down in its transparent depths. Ladder neglected,
you discard the tip, snap your gel shut,
flick the current on, heave a loaded sigh —
Name: Zephyr Hameem
Cohort: 2023
Hometown: Salisbury, MD
Description of the work: This piece was inspired by my time in a molecular biology lab during the pandemic. I’d had no previous basic science research experience, so the learning curve was daunting at the time. The poem describes a nervous student loading a gel for electrophoresis and forgetting to load the DNA ladder, so they ultimately won’t have a reference to compare their results to, an outcome that is both comedic and slightly tragic.
Bio: Zephyr Hameem is a second year medical student at HMSOM with a passion for studying the art of storytelling across all forms. She has a background in neuroscience and creative writing from Saint Louis University, and she completed her M.S. in Narrative Medicine at Columbia University. As of now, her specialty interests are hem/onc and palliative care. In her free time, she enjoys singing, reading/writing, baking, taking walks, finding new restaurants, and video calling her family (and cat).
Began as a sprout
Shaken and swayed by the storms
Lived to see next spring
Name: Chelsea Li
Cohort: 2023
Hometown: South Brunswick, NJ
Bio: Chelsea is a second year medical student at HMSOM who is an avid reader with a vivid imagination. Her creativity, the source of her childhood mischief, has become an important trait that's helped her throughout many difficulties. Chelsea hopes to always keep curious with an open mind as she continues to explore her journey in medicine.
