Lily Weber. The boy’s face, a carefully guarded mask, melted away, an entirely new expression taking root. He looked much younger suddenly, more like his age.

Rachel McLellan. He abruptly, loudly joked, “This place is like a hotel. It has the best food. I swear that vegetable soup is the best vegetable soup I’ve ever had in my entire life.” We joked, “I am going to spoil myself with two bowls for lunch.”

Raisa Khan. Looking down at my scrubs, stained yellow where the Xeroform had seeped under my gown, I was reminded of my hospital stay as a child. Despite his ophthalmic injuries, did he feel our presence as faceless silhouettes hovering over him?

Rahul Kumar. Before medical school, I thought being useful meant knowing what was wrong and what came next. Hospice did not give me that kind of usefulness.

Haruna Choijilsuren. She only wished for us to understand her, to empathize with her, and to be considerate. Yet I worry that we failed her. 

Jason Denoncourt. But the moment she walked out, she entered a void. No one was assigned to call her in three days. No one would notice if she missed the follow-up appointment she didn’t have.

Jennifer Kremer. Grief does not always look like tears. Sometimes it looks like headaches, fatigue, or school absences. A quiet fear that tightens your chest at night.

Olivia Chen. And perhaps this is the art of psychiatry: to imagine not only the past lives but the possible futures of one’s patients. It is like watching a reel of film spool out—the past unfolding with a dread you cannot look away from, knowing exactly where it leads.

Maddie Mulkern. Without hesitating, though, I rushed to the source. There I found one of my patients, sitting tense with anxiety in one of the oversized chairs in the main hallway. When I stopped at her side, she lowered her voice to a fearful hush.

Antonio Yaghy. "You see," Henry said, wincing slightly as he shifted position, "life presents us with what we need, not always what we want."

Courtney Winsie Chan. When I asked him how he was feeling, he smiled weakly, and responded with the exact opposite of what I’d expect of someone who just found out they don’t have cancer: “Not good”. 

Kayal Parthiban. He replied calmly, “You’re here because you’re in withdrawal and it’s really hard to be in withdrawal when you’re on the street.”

Marya Pulaski. As Mr. McCready slowly checked in with his swollen legs and struggled to get his wallet out of his pocket, he made one of his typical jokes: “If George Washington was checking in, do you think he could just show you a quarter?” 

Collin Leibold. She handed me the clothes, and before she left, said “when you finish your training, you come right back to Cape Cod because I want you to be our primary care doctor.”

Charlotte Walmsley. My white coat was crisp, unstained, and simply a front for medical facts written in some textbook lying on the floor next to my desk at home.

Sean Boyden. I remember the scrub tech who followed me out of the hospital on my last day of surgery, after I’d left before he had the opportunity to say goodbye, just so he could shake my hand and wish me all the best.

Meghan Reilly. When I left and asked if I could visit with him again, I was again met with a shrug, but this time, also a glimmer of a half-smile.

Dina Roche. This year many hands have reached out to grab my mine. “Thank you” says one patient. “You’re going to be a great doctor” says a second. “Am I going to be okay?” says a third

Hugh Silk. A virus has great power and its infectiousness is overwhelming us all in ways far beyond fevers, coughs, and shortness of breath. But the infectiousness of our human connection is a potent antidote.

Anonymous medical student. We both were in the corner of a hospital room, unsure of our place and why we were there.