Tag: Personal Narratives
-
From genocide to dream: The journey of a Rohingya refugee student
Mohammed SirajKutupalong Refugee Camp-7, Bangladesh I was born in a small village called Nanther Daung, near the Myanmar-Bangladesh border. My family and the entire Rohingya community have faced discrimination, persecution, political exclusion, and genocide in Myanmar for more than seventy-five years. Following the 1962 military coup by General Ne Win, the regime institutionalized racism. The…
-
The silence between us
Yara AbukhaledMemphis, Tennessee, United States It was just after 2:00 a.m. when the mother rushed into the emergency department, her son cradled in her arms. He was ten years old, barely conscious, his face streaked with soot and tears. His legs were blistered and raw, glistening under the fluorescent lights. She tried to explain what…
-
Rooted in exile, growing through medicine
Tenzin TamdinConnecticut, United States I was born in a Tibetan refugee settlement in India. My parents were farmers who worked a small piece of land with a few cows. I remember my mother borrowing rice from neighbors when we had none. I remember cleaning cow dung before sunrise, my school uniform folded beside me. Out…
-
Invitation to tea
Sandra GaynorChicago, Illinois, United States Kena motioned for me to come up to her apartment. I had driven her home from the knitting circle, as I did every Wednesday. This was the third time she had asked me to “come up for tea,” and so I accepted. Kena is in her fifties, I think. She…
-
Waiting
Sandra GaynorChicago, Illinois, United States What is waiting? As a child, waiting was, for me, a time to be angry with my father. He found it impossible to be on time for any event. When the rest of the family was dressed and sitting with coats on, he was thinking about showering and shaving and…
-
Whose name is writ in water: Life, serendipity, and fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva
Carol Zapata-WhelanFresno, California, United States “… I guess [the grass] is the handkerchief of the Lord,A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?”—Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass I sank down in a padded chair to wait for my routine bone…
-
A doctor in his own mind
Harvey LiebermanRockville Centre, New York, United States Over the past two centuries, medicine has evolved from a practice steeped in mysticism to a discipline grounded in science. Yet, even today, many people yearn for healers who combine scientific expertise with a touch of the mystical—who not only treat the body but also soothe the spirit.…
-
Finding our way back to healing
Frances MilatMelbourne, Australia “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.” —Mary Oliver Early in 2020, as my family flew home to Australia from a medical sabbatical in the United States, we started to hear reports of serious illness and death among our colleagues. Soon, the medical institutions and communities that had…
-
Tobacco in my time
Hugh Tunstall-PedoeDundee, Scotland Doll and Hill’s 1956 publication1 linking smoking with lung cancer had one quick result—others were delayed by years. My school biology class displayed a cigarette butt among the specimens in our classroom, labelled “Fagendia cancercausia”. A year later when being interviewed for a place at Guy’s Hospital Medical School, most of my…
-
Shaggy dog licks patient
As a very young doctor, a very long time ago, I had to support myself by making house calls as a locum or for an agency. The calls often came at night, often from a worried-well patient. Finding the right house was frequently challenging, especially in the suburbs, where people used fancy, elegant names instead…