Lisa Jacobs’ story, Doctoring and Disobedience, was gratifyingly evocative, reminding me of promises I had made to myself as a nursing student and then a psychiatric nurse practitioner. Trying to satisfy both one’s own ethics while following the wishes of the family or the legal rights of a guardian makes for often difficult treatment decisions.

Whatever the diagnosis or prognosis, being a patient often includes elements of fear.

In my non-fiction story “Weight,” I explore the complicated relationship that I had with my aunt, as I was her caretaker in the final years of her life. My aunt suffered from a shocking injury when her left femur bone snapped as she was getting her morning newspaper.

Speech is a crucial element in human connection. Even more so these days, during the COVID-19 pandemic, when physical touch has become largely forbidden. One can imagine, then, the tremendous loss associated with aphasia – the loss of ability to understand or express speech.

Taking care of people in the Operating Room is more than ‘just a job’ for both surgeons and anesthesiologists.

In 2006, my mother suffered a stroke that left her with severe aphasia, and for the next ten years, as her caretaker, I struggled to make sense of her words. So when I read Jennifer Wolkin’s poem, “Aphasia,” I came to it as someone with first-hand experience.

Poetry and art explore the deeper emotional dimensions of cancer.

Michael Fredrick Geisser’s “Night Trip” (Fall 2015 Intima) takes place at the same time as my poem “Late Night,” that dark lonely hour when one should be asleep.

We live in a world and line of work where so many voices compete for our attention. But as we consider the potential for hope and help that exists within our efforts to connect meaningfully with our patients, we are fueled with greater generosity of spirit even as we acknowledge our own limitations as healthcare providers, as humans.