WRITER * ARTIST * DOCTOR * PATIENT * MOTHER
“Doktè, li son tankou oseyan an!” he murmured in Haitian Creole, looking up at me incredulously. In English, “Doctor, it sounds like the ocean!” I had paused on morning rounds to offer the young man my stethoscope so he could hear his own heart. I was a new doctor; he was a new immigrant. Daniel* was…
The early spring breeze rustled the edges of my skirt as I stood high above the street waiting for the train. It was the first warmth Chicago had seen that year. I felt free, finally leaving home the layers the winter frost had required. I was heading downtown for dinner with my teacher colleagues. Our…