A Poem for my Pocket

What happens when you get a group of 4 socially anxious women and two counselors who have battled with social anxiety in the past together in a room?

Talking.

A social anxiety group does seem like a strange idea at first, what are people just going to sit around, be nervous about talking to each other, and blush the whole time? But so far it's turned out to be a comfortable space where things that seem nerve-wracking at times become something that can be laughed at.
Anyhow, today I was given a copy of this poem at the group and I really appreciated what it says so I figured I'd share it-- copyright laws be damned, in the hopes that someone else can appreciate it too.

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

Two in a day?!

although I must confess both were written earlier and just finished today...

“Baby Docs” one professor calls us, alluding to the fact that we are more human than doctor still. Differentials don’t immediately pop into our head as soon as we hear the words nausea and fever, and we still identify more with the fear of the unknown the patient has than with the confidence with which the doctor pronounces the patient well after listening to breaths, heartbeats, and palpating the body.

Today, though, a classmate did a Gram stain and successfully diagnosed a patient with gonorrhea. Another milked the parotid gland, a technique we were just told about yesterday in lecture. And I examined a deep tissue MRSA-infected lesion, and recited, “Gram-positive, methicelyne resistant, staphylocci,” in my head…

So I have to say, if we are baby docs, I call us nine-month olds—still curious, getting our hands into everything, learning to walk and learning to stand up again after we fall (with a few tears in between).

I know that as years go by and we’ve seen it all over and over again it won’t all seem as exciting, and shiny, and new. But hopefully then I’ll still have this little piece of writing to remind me that we get to do things that so many other people don’t get to do, that we get intimate knowledge and immediate trust from people just because of our titles—medical student, resident, doctor. And hopefully it will humble me a little and remind me to be appreciative and find joy in the small pieces of knowledge we are privileged to have.

Xavi's Magnificat

Wow, I can't believe I haven't written since February... I'm slacking...

So this past March, I went to NY with big plans of seeing all my college friends as well as introducing my "friend" (with that wink-wink stress on it) to all the wonderful things to see in NY. Needless to say, 4 days flew by and I saw Felicia and Mickie (which by itself made my trip worth it) and maybe a small percentage of those wonderful things I was planning on...
Although I didn't get to do everything I set out to do while I was in NY, I did bring something back with me-- having been in the envrionment I associate with my former more artistic part of life and around my friend who creates art everyday, I brought a small hole in my heart. It was hard to come back to pure science and to remember I rarely get to indulge in some of the things I once loved to, so much so that half the time I don't know where to start anymore. So after my first breakdown of the spring quarter (1 made it one week!), I asked my friend Sarah to give me a writing assignment and she said, "write a magnificat"
To which I said, "Is that some sort of famous poetry?" Sarah gave me the 'you poor infidel' look and explained that a magnificat was Mary's celebration of herself:

And Mary said: "My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant. From now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me--holy is his name. His mercy extends to those who fear him, from generation to generation. He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble. He has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, remembering to be merciful to Abraham and his descendants for ever, even as he said to our fathers."
Luke 1:46-55

My magnificat is more self-centered than Mary's but hopefully still a nice read:

Sometimes

… I like the smell of stale cigarettes
it reminds me of where I want to be
the small jazz club with the saxophonist visible through the haze of smoke
dim lights and a couple kissing in the corner
my hand wrapped around the stem of a glass of red wine

… after a drink or two
I look in the bathroom mirror and say damn,
you’re hot

Always

…at night, once the lights are off
I trace the lines of my other’s face to see if my hands can memorize the lines
or at least the feel of skin a day old

…for at least a day, I fall in love with each of my friends and I wonder what it would be like
to live in their skin

…the feel of rough surfaces feels good against my skin

Never

…it won’t ever happen if I’m quiet