in-Training

Medical Etymology: Tales Behind the Terms is a series of articles discussing the stories, origins, and meanings of words we use every day in medicine. The goal is to explore the history of the complex jargon we use with patients and learners. In doing so, I hope that we, as physicians-in-training, can deliver better healthcare that is understandable and memorable for all. Newborn skin rashes are incredibly common, and while some may appear concerning, most are benign and self-resolving.

Medical Etymology: Tales Behind the Terms is a series of articles discussing the stories, origins, and meanings of words we use every day in medicine. The goal is to explore the history of the complex jargon we use with patients and learners. In doing so, I hope that we, as physicians-in-training, can deliver better healthcare that is understandable and memorable for all.

15. Fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave the hospital, April’s pager went off. That beep, beep, beep is now forever seared in my mind. She pulled up the imaging of the patient we were about to meet, barely looking up as the ICU physician, Dr. Wissman, whizzed by her. “I accepted a crazy transfer,” he called out without stopping, “it’s from an urgent care.” April’s green eyes darted up and down the computer screen in front of her. “Already on it!” she responded.

I walk into my patient’s room as he is receiving a blood transfusion with a guitar strapped across my back and sheet music in hand. He is used to seeing me in the early mornings when the surgical team rounds. He has been in the hospital for a week now, recovering from a liver cancer resection. He had joked with me in the operating room before he went under anesthesia, and I had looked forward to checking in on him the subsequent days. Yet each morning afterward, I watched him retreat. He ate less.

In high school, I learned about humanity’s darkest corners far too early. I came across videos online of people telling stories of unthinkable violence, suffering and cruelty that left me profoundly shaken. I learned about snuff films that glorified murder, stories written by women who experienced sexual violence, and serial killers with sadistic rituals. “How could anyone even fathom committing those acts?” I wondered.

wake up, orange sunshine fills my eyes. feed my bunny, sweet smell of coriander. i miss home. change into scrubs, head for the bus. i wonder what my sister is doing right now. it’s cold here, i text my lover. walk to class, today we dissect. grandma is dying. open the abdominal cavity. peel back the layers of fascia. i miss my parents. listen to my professors. peristalsis, achalasia, portal vein. this is what i prayed for, isn’t it? but my dog is dying. my childhood room is collecting dust. i miss my friends.

when i die,donate my body to science.for perhaps i may be dissected,by childlike hands and fresh minds,whose shoes I once stood in. open my body,peel back the layers of fascia and adipose,swallowed with that in which I lived for. when they open my abdominal cavity,may they learn my favorite foods,the myeokguk i ate every birthday,and my love for candies,that painted my stomach red.

“Call security. We need restraints.” The nurse yelled out into the hallway while he gently held down the patient’s strong right arm that vigorously wrestled in all directions to escape. I, a relatively new Patient Care Associate on the floor, was on the other arm. His screams echoed throughout the room, bouncing off the walls and into the hallway, prompting glances from other staff members. I had walked in a few minutes earlier with his breakfast, ready to feed him.

The ability to empathize and to wonder is fundamental to being human. These aspects of thought allow us to expand our knowledge and deepen our connections with others. Before starting medical training, I believed I would maintain my own sense of wonder, perhaps even expand it through new experiences. Yet after three years of medical school, I have found this more difficult than expected.

Foreign Bodies (Berries) Veronica Gibbons (2026) acrylic on paper This painting reminds us that beneath every incision is a unique individual, shaped by experiences that cannot be standardized. Medicine is inherently unpredictable, and while training emphasizes mastery of uniform knowledge, that focus can shift attention toward efficiency, performance, and personal progress. The unexpected blueberries disrupt this mindset, highlighting that while anatomy may be shared, each patient is different.