“She hasn’t agreed to talk to anyone until now”
The nurse’s words echoed in my head as I walked in.
She looked at me, eyes glowering with both hands on her right leg. It was hanging off the bed.
Her brow furrowed, eyes pinched and lips puckered with effort. She struggled to lift it up.
I offered to help, and she said no.
Woman, early twenties, motor vehicle accident, she was different from those I had seen before,
Those who were older, very ill with medical histories almost as long as their lives.
She looked at me coolly, distrustfully, steely, unbothered.
She was a singer, girlfriend with a close family.
Her foot slipped off the bed again, I offered to help, she said no.
She grunted with effort.
I wanted to be helpful, but how? Fear prickled over me.
I felt inadequate interviewing her, wading further into water that wanted to wash me out.
Every curt response was like a wave breaking against my chest. If I could get her to open up I
would be happy enough.
She began to recall the events of her accident, leaving home after texting her partner, driving
along as always.
Waking up alone and frightened.
Woman, early twenties, motor vehicle accident, she was exactly what I had seen.
Waking up alone in a pool of my blood.
Woman, early twenties, motor vehicle accident, she was a reflection of me only separated by a
few months.
As she spoke she spiraled, taking me with her, we circled a never-ending drain.
Finally she broke, tears flooding, washing us both out of the dark.
Each of her tears getting caught in my throat.
All I could do was rush to get her tissues. She dried her eyes, grew calm, and became a placid
undisturbed lake.
She spoke about her family visiting, her boyfriend, her work.
She grew and I shrank. Word by word, inch by inch,
smaller and smaller.
She floated and I sank. Word by word, inch by inch,
deeper and deeper.
She grew bigger, bigger still, she spoke about her plans,
how she was happy to be alive, glowing with resolve.
She walked easily on the water I was drowning in.
Her foot slid off the bed again, she laughed.
I offered to help and she said yes.
I hurried over as fast as I could, dwarfed by her, a giantess, trying to keep my head above water.
With all the awe and gratitude I could muster, I lifted her up.
With all the ease and strength that she had, she hoisted me up.

This piece is about a patient encounter that I had during my first year introduction to clinical medicine course. I had a motor vehicle accident 6 weeks before starting medical school. It was serious and left me seriously scarred. When I started medical school, I was still going in for wound care and my face was still bandaged up. I had to move across the country with no family or friends and I was still reeling from it all. I was dealing with PTSD, anxiety and the stress of starting a whole new life. This patient was the first young patient I met. I had been in school for a few months and previously all the patients I had interacted with were older cancer patients with little direct relatability to me. When I first spoke to her, she seemed cool and distrustful, and I had no idea why she was there. After speaking for some time, I realized that she was exactly where I had been, and it felt like I was watching myself. She had been in a car crash and she was clearly still hurting. She had not spoken to any of the staff at that point and as she talked me through what happened to her I found myself empathizing with her even more. She was expressing what I was not able to do since my accident. However, as the conversation went
forward, she expressed so much happiness and positivity. I felt that she grew away from me, and she showed numerous strengths and a solid resolve that I did not feel like I had at the time. She showed me that there definitely was a light at the end of the tunnel, and I just had not been seeing it. This experience was one of the earliest and most potent patient encounters as I was reminded of the reciprocal nature of medicine, healing and the power of vulnerability. Sometimes I forget that healing can go both ways and that we are truly privileged not only to see people at their most vulnerable but to learn from them. Sometimes I forget that my human experiences with pain, grief and even joy can be so vital when brought into the clinical setting. This patient encounter taught me that our vulnerability as current and future providers is also a valuable tool for healing.

Image credit: Custom artwork by the author for this Mosaic in Medicine piece.

Catherine Potin (1 Posts)

Medical Student Contributing Writer

Keck School of Medicine

Catherine Potin is a 4th Year Medical student at Keck School of Medicine in the MD-MPH program. She was originally from the Gambia West Africa, went to Mercer University in Georgia for undergrad Catherine Potin is a 4th Year Medical student at Keck School of Medicine in the MD-MPH program. She was originally from the Gambia West Africa, went to Mercer University in where she grew her love of writing and Narrative Medicine.