The leaves of fall carry the sound of wind.
Marching down the stairs, cars blowing in the night.
As I leave the sick alone, I often ponder to myself
What is the privilege of contact, and what is its cost?
The leaves of fall carry the sound of wind.
An IV here and a monitor there.
Are you the med student for the day? It’s really nice to meet you!
Please tell me about your disease; I am learning and I care.
The leaves of fall carry the sound of wind.
A Black man and a medical student? Now that is truly outstanding.
My dad here is a Black man too, but they say he might die soon.
What is the privilege of contact, and what is its cost?
The leaves of fall carry the sound of wind.
It was an honor to care for your dad, but now you see, I have to leave.
Ah, you will make an excellent doctor!
You are so kind, thank you. One day I hope indeed.
But before I go, please tell me if you will
What is the privilege of contact, and what is its cost?
This poem serves as an offering of gratitude for the incredible patients I have met during my third-year rotations. At a time when many did not have the opportunity to safely congregate, medical students who were on clinical rotations across the country were able to spend most of the year on the wards. Serving my fellow human beings in their most vulnerable times represents a great privilege to which I refer in the poem.
However, this poem is also a reflection of the emotional cost that comes with this contact. It can be extremely difficult at times to hold space for those who are suffering from illness, similar to what is often referred to as “compassion fatigue.” The act of continuously opening your heart to patients going through illness, recovery and sometimes even death can take a hidden toll.
I chose the title of this poem because I felt that it encapsulated these nuances very well. This saying comes from the Buddhist tradition, representing the idea that there are miracles to be found in ordinary life if we look hard enough. In many ways, being able to make contact with strangers, establish a relationship with them, gain their trust and play an active role in some of the most defining moments of their life constitutes a small miracle.
Image credit: Pathway between green trees by David Bruyndonckx from Unsplash
Medical Student Contributing Writer
Emory University School of Medicine
Tim is a fourth-year medical student at Emory who is originally from Rwanda. He hopes to continue sharing his reflections about, and within medicine. His main career interests are oncology, medical humanities, and global health equity.
