In 1983, The Outsiders featured Robert Frost’s “Nothing Gold Can Stay” and, augmented by Francis Ford Coppola’s cinematic genius, it planted a seed, one I was unaware of at the time.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can …
Standing in the middle of the parking lot of the Berkeley 2000 Recreation Center in February 2021, Molly Humphreys, in a single frame, captures an important moment in the public’s collective health, though it can be easily missed if we don’t pause and absorb its significance. In the chaos of 2025, it would be careless to not linger on this image.
A masked …
Why we can’t forget public health
The service entrance doors slid to the right and, as Molly Humphreys and I exited the Berkeley Medical Center, we stepped into an unseasonably warm evening. “It’s the golden hour,” Molly said as we surveyed our surroundings and removed our masks, exposing flat faces with creased noses. Behind us stood a cold, somber hospital and we were engulfed in an empty parking …
The unseen labor of EMS professionals
Since spring 2020, Molly Humphreys, a native of Shepherdstown, West Virginia, has photographed workers in and around the Berkeley Medical Center (BMC) and, in the process, has created a rich mosaic of the complex realities of health care in Martinsburg, West Virginia. Specializing in portraiture, Humphreys had never worked in the health care space—that is, until I invited her to partner in …
Portraits of strength: Molly Humphreys and the unseen women of health care
Tough and tender at the same time, Linda is a woman with a broad smile, the kind who likes to “fish all weekend at the lake, a place where I don’t think about anything. Or, anyone.” I often smelled cigarette smoke on her, and she has the raspy voice that comes from a lifetime of stepping outside on the porch to light up. She embodies the physical strength that comes …
A powerful story of addiction, strength, and redemption
“I will catch you on the flip side,” I said these words as I planted a kiss on Laura’s clammy forehead. I instinctively knew this would be the last time I spoke with her. I walked around the foot of her hospital bed to Sherry and told her not to get up as I bent over and gave her a big hug, the kind where I buried my face in …
When a doctor becomes the narrator of a patient’s final chapter
Today was my first Match Day as a program director and, while most of my emotions are unprocessed, I already have many thoughts.
I can’t forget the concurrent drop in my stomach, pause in my cardiac systole, and the involuntary intake of breath which occurred when the email arrived—2 minutes early!—from the NRMP. I stacked an extra gasp even before I exhaled the first while I fumbled to open the email. …
What my first Match Day as a program director taught me about hope
Perpetually late to the game, I was watching The Crown on my laptop Friday night, the wonderful episode set in the summer of 1969, when astronauts landed on the moon. While the world gazed into the heavens, series creator Peter Morgan looked around here on Earth and asked, What does it all mean?
Contrasted against this crowning scientific achievement was the Duke of Edinburgh’s personal crisis of faith. When NASA launched, …
What The Far Side taught me about belonging in science
It was like being struck by lightning during the chorus, the recognition that Paul Simon was singing directly to me. “Medicine is magical, and magical is art,” he sang, and I turned up the radio, convinced that I was supposed to hear these lyrics—a tender moment in which I was vulnerable to possibility. The hair on my neck stood up and warmth washed over me, the telltale signs that this …
Why creativity in medicine can inspire the next generation of doctors
“I want to use the art of medicine to meet the individual needs of my patients.” These words emanated from the computer as I stared at the Zoom screen. Two large, soft brown eyes, accompanied by a toothy smile, stared straight at me, all framed within a silk hijab, one which was ocean blue with a wisp of pink at the edge. My heart skipped a beat as the reflected …
Doing residency interviews while tired on a Friday afternoon
The COVID-19 pandemic was war, and I served in a foxhole. I survived, in part, by drowning my sorrow in song—music I abused as if it were drugs. I heard “Spaceman” by Nick Jonas today while driving to the hospital, and, at the peak of the chorus, dopamine surged in my brain, making me queasy. My neck hair stood up, and I went clammy. This was not a monstrous rush …
Sue went to the operating room today, which was not at all what I recommended, not that we ever discussed my personal opinion on the matter. With a worsening small bowel obstruction, I woke up this morning and, realizing that matters had worsened overnight, I called her husband, Dave. I don’t think I woke him, but his voice, one complicated by little, if any, sleep and likely hours of talking …
When a doctor acts like one of the kids
I have too many important tasks during my workday to leave anything to chance in the hazy, slanted dawn. Failure is not on my schedule for tomorrow. So tonight, I will once again pack a lunch, lay out my clothes, and set up the coffee pot.
Before arriving at work in the morning, I will know who I will be seeing and—often—why they are coming to me. If, for some reason, …
Am I an internist or a milkman?
I read in a dusty novel that a famous pirate said there are no legacies in this life. Our lives, he said, float atop a fickle sea, and when we die, nothing remains. Many hands work the decks and, in the process, are worn, discarded, and forgotten. The sea gives, and eventually, she flushes the flotsam, leaving no monuments to souls and their adventures.
Well, this is not entirely true. And, …
This doctor sometimes listens to pirates
On this particular day, my heart rolled off my arm and crashed on the cold exam room floor. I summoned the strength—from where? I don’t know. Ginny cried, and between sobs, she described a brain tumor, the one that left him in a bed for a year. I handed her two tissues (one was never enough) and heaved my stool forward. I wrapped my entire arm around her as tears …
When a doctor’s heart falls: Witnessing raw emotion in medicine
I limped into work one morning and, tired from the day which had yet to begin, paused when I did not recognize the name of my first patient. This likely meant that I saw him once, enough to—maybe—remember the basics of his health care, but not his name. If that sounded weird, it was the way my brain worked after twenty years of being a doctor.
I pulled up his chart …
An internal medicine doctor’s appreciation of a patient’s name
“I made a big mistake a long time ago.”
These words snapped my concentration. I squinted at the computer screen, and even though it had been stable, I waited for Cindy’s pancytopenia to collapse entirely. I enjoyed seeing Cindy, the kind of patient who trusted my counsel and, just as importantly, needed my help. Sweet and cute, she gave me a real hug and a genuine smile every time I saw …
When the doctor’s office becomes a confession booth
I can’t stop thinking about “customer satisfaction,” which is weird because I don’t actually have customers. I’m a primary care doctor for a group of patients in Martinsburg, WV, and have done so for almost twenty years. At its core, my job is the opposite of having it your way, like I’m told you can do at Burger King.
I don’t sell anything in my office except, perhaps, the benefits of …
When this doctor gets a zero star rating
I normally don’t make professional resolutions, but this year I am making an important exception. Why would I do such a thing? Like most of my evolution as a doctor, it comes from the wellspring of wisdom, namely listening to my patients.
I had a conversation recently with a patient, Kate, a retired school teacher, a lovely woman who spent her career in Berkeley County, WV, and taught kids who struggled. …
A surprising resolution in primary care
I’ve been reflecting lately because, honestly, I feel like I am—finally—good at primary care. With experience, patience, and, dare I say, wisdom, I experience satisfaction, knowing I can do this job. I’m the real McCoy. Or, in my case, the real McCarthy. And despite this, maybe because of this, the effort required often leaves me incapable of doing much else.
At 47 years old, having survived a pandemic, having found my …
The beautiful exhaustion of primary care
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