Judge’s Choice • Creative Writing
Students and Residents Category
^©  Amber Carr  |  Class of 2027

Sherry enters the hospital cafeteria and adjusts her glasses, surveying the choices. Salads, soup, pizza, some kind of rice bowl? Paninis and—

A small bump to her shoulder startles her as people pass, and she realizes she is still standing in the middle of the entrance. She attempts to step to the side, but at 81 she is not a fast woman. She looks ahead now to see she is blocking the end of the salad line. She moves again, then again, pushed slowly around the room by the headstrong flow of lunch rush traffic. She squints at a backlit menu, but she is too far away to really read it. Her stomach growls impatiently, urging her to make a choice.

Sherry abandons the menu and shuffles around to the next counter. What time did the doctor say their meeting was? She really ought to get back to Henry’s room. With renewed decisiveness, she grabs a hamburger and fries from the counter. She turns around a few times, searching for the exit. Finally, she follows the flow of customers out toward the registers. She chooses the shortest line, and soon she sets her items in front of the cashier and reaches for her purse. She fumbles with the clasp on her wallet and begins to count her cash, now becoming acutely aware of the line forming behind her. It seems that several people in the other lines have already purchased their food and moved on by the time she collects her change and walks out into the dining area.

Sherry scans the room, searching for an empty seat. People continue to bustle past her, joining tables of their friends and colleagues or else heading straight out, food in hand. She spots an empty table in the middle of the room and moves toward it, but a mother and her two kids occupy it before she can reach it. Finally, she settles into a seat in the far corner and puts her food on the table. Conversations buzz all around her as she begins to unwrap the hamburger from its foil packaging. She lifts the bun, only to discover that there are no condiments on it. She is sure there must be a way to get some, but going on another search does not feel worth it at this point.

“I don’t even like hamburgers,” Sherry says quietly to herself. She swipes tears away from her eyes with frail fingers, and then begins to slowly eat her lunch.

Judge’s Comments: I find that in healthcare, we often dismiss the idea of stopping to smell the roses, citing that this is not a luxury we can afford. In a time when productivity, throughput, and efficiency are highly valued and our days are cluttered with meetings, messages, and myriad other seemingly important tasks, this heart-breaking piece reminds me of the importance of slowing down and really seeing what is happening around me. 

Judge’s Choice • Creative Writing

Faculty and Healthcare Providers Category

^©  Christy Lucas, MD   |  Alumnus, Class of 2020

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees and prepare two 9-inch cake pans by buttering and lightly flouring.

“She’s broken her hip,” too busy to call;
Twenty-four hours later, a stroke after Fall.
Thinking, my cat with nine lives: invincible.
Calling at last, greeted by aphasia: reprehensible.
Hemiparetic in the ICU, reality came into view.
As they spoke over, beside, never with you,
Failing to see my brave, frustrated patient,
For your Broca’s was broken and thoughts too latent.

2. Prepare two 9-inch cake pans by buttering and lightly flouring. Add 2 c. flour, 2 c. sugar, ¾ c. unsweetened cocoa powder, 2 t baking powder, 1 ½ t baking soda, 1 t salt, and 1 ½ t espresso powder to a large bowl. Whisk to combine.

Holding hands, “Be patient with yourself,” I said,
Placing pictures of our family ’round your bed.
“Love you” escaped your drooped lip, firing every neuron,
Stopping my tracts: she’ll be ok—she’s not gone.
“When you get better, I’ll bake you a chocolate cake,
Writing ‘Kay’ in pink to decorate.”
As your diabetic eyes glimmered in reply,
I leaned over and said my goodbye.

3. Add 2 c. milk, ½ c. vegetable oil, 2 large eggs, and 2 t vanilla extract to flour mixture and mix together on medium speed until well combined. Reduce speed and carefully add 1 c. boiling water to the cake batter until well combined.

I held onto hope, trying to look ahead,
But at my next visit, you barely moved in bed.
Speech improving, but pride evermore bruised.
Incontinence and immobility: a contrast to life you once knew.
Though your brain slowly healed after stroke,
It was now the heart that broke.
Greeting you now with aphasia, not knowing how to fix it.
You felt broken beyond repair, and there I sat, keen to exit. 

4. Distribute cake batter evenly between the two prepared cake pans.

I wish you knew that you were perfectly imperfect that day,
And no matter what, I would have loved you any way.
But staying was not a choice that I could make.
So now it remains forever—the unbaked chocolate cake.

Judge’s Comments:

This poignant piece serves as a reminder that grieving isn’t limited to death. Rather, there is a special kind of mourning that comes with the loss of what once was, even as we try to appreciate what is.

Judge’s Choice • Creative Writing

Staff, Family, and Community Members Category

^©  Ananya Das   |  Department of Orthopaedics and Rehabilitation

They sit in silence
holding hands,
touching,
eyes conveying
their own special
message.
The prognosis is in,
it’s a glioma.
The silence
speaks volumes.
The coming days
will not
be the same.
Whatever comes
this moment
of silence
is reassuring.
In sickness
In health
In silence.

Judge’s Comments:

As we help our patients navigate their illnesses, we often feel compelled to jump into next steps, to come up with a plan, to do something. Yet, perhaps the way we can provide the most support is by creating space for stillness, and by sharing in the silence.

^©  Barbara Junker

Among the mourners
and those paying their respects
at the funeral, a baby squalled.
Some in attendance thought
who would bring an infant
to such a sad, silent procedure?
What irreverence, what ignorance, what thoughtlessness.
But one woman heard the child’s cries
as a song celebrating the person passed
had entered into eternal peace
and this young voice sang
that a new life was here.

 

Judge’s Comments:

What a beautiful reflection on the circle of life. Even as man-made convention and cultural norms purportedly provide structure and “rules,” with the lusty cry of an innocent baby, nature reminds us how interconnected we all are. Time, and life itself, marches on.