January 13, 2014
"Blood is red, cyanosis is blue, I get tachycardia when I think of you."

— (via emtvacation)

(via aspiringdoctors)

January 9, 2014

newshour:

"Someone is dying aline in the night.

The hospital hums like a consciousness.”

When poetry meets medicine.

September 15, 2013
the clerkship project: we won't stop (i thought i told you that)

clerkshipproject:

wondering why i’ve got this urgency,
all that i yearn to be is right in front of me,
i’ve maintained courtesy to nth degree,
and now it’s my turn to go out and get it,
so i run full speed like towards the 45 kipling bus
when we were seventeen, and we saw it rolling up,
yeah i’ve got issues with trust,
yeah i’ve got issues with lust,
spontaneously combust, need no lighter
for this fire, we aim higher
than thought possible,
white coats, donned in hospitals,
expectations, we’ve got lots to fill,
we get lost at will, i’ve seen lots of real
turn fake, pile too much onto plates,
too much emphasis on fate,
this is our place, this our time,
this is our shine, and it’s not
dependent on jewelery or sunlight,
this is within, this is from soul,
this is from cell, this is nucleus,
this is realness, i can’t appeal to this
demographic, i used to think i couldn’t hack it,
but the fact is we’re all actin,
they’re all actors, where we act sure,
when we lack cures, where we act like
we all rap tight, when we lack right,
this aint black and white, this is real life,
this is the discarded blue boxes
of blockbuster videos, this is
thrown out mixtapes containing
high school flows, this is home phones,
this is loonies spent on speakers corner segment,
this is respite, these are my confessions
there are still lessons to learn,
used to burn all my mistakes,
but the only way to elevate
is to criticize, so now i analyze,
realize that our demise
is ongoing, foreclosing, impending,
but the ending is still under revision,
make each decision, with finality
don’t underestimate gravity,
levity and brevity are dead to me,
we grew up on mase and diddy,
so forgive me if i act hypocritically,
you’ve yet to see, the best of me,
this isn’t just a test to me,
this is everything, this is all of me,
all i want to be, is satisfied,
keep these struggles in perspective
with the end in mind.

March 1, 2013
day 100: phenylethylamine

clerkshipproject:

there’s a lot to escape from,
within these pods
and without.

that which is ugly and sinister,
can hide beauty, can hold hope.
it’s perspective.

those that persevere,
learn to accept
each spectrum end,
hand-in-hand.

December 3, 2012
emmy.: for those of us on our last spoon.

cranquis:

theemmyjames:

it’s waking up from a restless night of sleep, bracing yourself to face the day.
it’s willing your body to make it two more steps, so you can brush your teeth.
it’s compromising looking decent for having a bit more energy.
it’s realizing how tired you are…and it’s only nine in the morning.

it’s trying desperately to focus on your professor’s words.
it’s constant shifting to try and get a bit more comfortable.
it’s holding back the tears as you remember that meeting.
it’s nap time, because without it you would collapse.

it’s telling people no, not because you don’t want to but because you can’t.
it’s always feeling like you’ve let someone down.
it’s nagging pressure to try and act normal.
it’s your body shutting down when you do that.

it’s a phone book’s worth of doctor’s office numbers.
it’s lab work every month.
it’s eight, ten, twelve pills a day (or more).
it’s hoping and praying that this new treatment is effective.

it’s looking normal but knowing you’re not.
it’s judgmental glares from strangers when you take the elevator, not the stairs.
it’s misunderstanding from friends who truly do care.
it’s not fair, but you deal.

it’s giving up the life you thought you’d have because you can’t physically do it.
it’s seeing other people happy and healthy and wanting it for yourself.
it’s emotional and physical pain, twenty-four seven.
it’s wishing it would all go away.

it’s hearing you’ll never be able to have children.
it’s feeling inadequate and invisible.
it’s wanting what you’ll never have.
it’s the worry that something else will pop up. 

it’s fibro and lupus and hashimoto’s and crohn’s.
it’s CFS and PCOS and CAH and RA. 
it’s endometriosis and celiac and cushing’s and MS.
it’s chronic illness, and it’s your life.

In honor of all the unseen and underestimated.

July 30, 2012
"Surgeons must be very careful
When they take the knife!
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the Culprit - Life!"

— Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

(Source: medicalstate)

June 24, 2012

ohheytherehi:

Cranquis Big Apple Treasure Hunt: Track 5

It’s suggested you listen to this after watching this episode of Courage the Cowardly Dog: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=deU2gPJTu88

June 7, 2012
Sometimes I Cry in Buses

themedicalchronicles:

                                           By Natalie Nuzzo

sometimes

          I cry in buses

I have a Dr.

          that is the twin

          of Mr. Monopoly

 

white handlebar mustache

          round bald head white

temples mustaches

          curled at the edges

varied length and fashion

today new tortoise

          shell glasses

 

I have high blood pressure

          and a tumor

I don’t know    you tell me

how I  

          feel about that

 

Dr. has a pretty tall

          Jamaican nurse

she compliments my outfits

          nails

          and jewelry

I love her         always stilettos

the most elegant

          a glamorous nurse

 

diagnoses behind closed doors

          analyzed over paper work

          computer screens

Dr. yells at me            he’s strict

          old and grumpy

the best around

          upper echelon

 

Dr. gives me pills

          says things like:

“no good deed goes unpunished”

          and

“that’s the problem 

          I’m never here”

 

I don’t understand Dr.

          he scolds me

          I forget my dosage

“you should know this”

           and

“I don’t trust my own records”

 

I swallow pills blindly pretend

          the quantity the Rx

          is invisible

I imbibe every day orange

          not brown

          not white or yellow

          my eyes forget

my medicines

 

Dr. complains to me:

          “I joined the gym

then I was sick

          I went for two weeks

then I was traveling

                  to Europe

          My gym

is right in my building

          and the gym

          is

          right in my building”

 

I don’t know what to say

so I fake laugh instead

          always the expert

in deflection

           ( at thirty I learn

          how to hold  back )

 

steel file cabinet-ed quantities

          and expensive free samples

 the “ america “n

         modern medical machine

the best kept

          secrets dangle above

          in gold-plated premiums

          and cushioned carpets

those sweet n sexy nurses

         the flat screen arrogance

of the cardiovascular

          prescription

“ america ”s most prolific legalized

          gambling industry

 

white white haired men roam

           these halls

the women  

          work the counter

 these few men hold the keys

          white mustaches white walls

white halls white coats worn by all

 

these few men who invite you

          to walk down our cash

walled halls ours

          are the most expansive

          and well-lit here we save

          hearts

bodies but not minds

           ( university medicine

only comes with

          a side of infection )

 

sometimes

          I cry in buses

I have a doctor

          that is the twin

          of Mr. Monopoly

 

I don’t know    you tell me

how I  

          feel about that

April 28, 2012
Fan Poetry: One Ill, Two Ills, Red Pills, Blue Pills.

cranquis:

confessions-of-a-redhead submitted:

All of your poems and nursery rhymes inspired me to write a Dr. Suess poem of sorts. This is done from memory. (My mom used to read all of the Dr. Suess books to me, and I can still recite most of them.) It’s a rather lengthy fan poem, so bring a snack. I hope you enjoy! Anyway, here goes.

Cranquis’ Note: What follows is a tour de force of poetry, parody, and astounding recall of previous posts from this blog. I am flabbergasted, amazed, and dumbfounded. In humble appreciation of your skill, c-o-a-redhead, I officially dub thee with your Cranquisnym of Honor: Official Cranquis Poet Hugh Laureate. I just may have to get you to write my whole FAQ in rhyme too! :)

Now sit back and enjoy this epic thing (links added in post-production by Cranquis).

One ill, two ills, red pills, blue pills.

Black pills, blue pills, old pills, new pills.

Say, what alot of pills there are!

Yes, some are red and some are blue,

Some are old and some are new.

Read More

April 27, 2012
"Do Your Ears Hang Low" for the Chronically Ill

lupinelady:

Do your knee joints swell?

Do they throb and burn like hell?

Are your muscles all in knots?

Are you ill, but friends can’t tell?

Can you barely move your shoulders

And though you’re sick, still on you soldier?

Do your

knee

joints

swell.

Any verses to add?

March 23, 2012
Carotid.

readmytongue:

Every now and then,

I’ll place two fingers - pointer

and middle -on my 

carotid artery, and

remember that I’m alive.

February 1, 2012
it's all come alive.: master of crutches boast.

cranquis:

mysoulcanbreathe:

I, Katelyn, connoisseur of purple walking sticks

Have acquired a skill that many people do not need.

An ability so mastered that it comes natural to me.

Learning immediately after being under the knife for the first time.

Perfecting it after the four operations that followed.

I stealthily swim through the scholar’s safe haven hallways.

People part, like the red sea,

When they observe me crutching.

Dipping, dodging, and ducking,

Vehemently avoiding an assail from those who ignore my presence.

Clicking and clacking constantly from class to class.

Hopping haphazardly up and down harsh steps.

Resolute to conquer the stairs,

No matter how arduous they may be.

Hours and hours of trekking wear me down.

But I must be strong and press on,

Until that final bell rings and I can go to my humble abode.

Lazy and lethargic, I never want to leave my throne again.

But then the day comes when I no longer need my crutches.

That is, until the next operation happens.

Beautiful poetry about finding beauty in your illness/restriction, written by an old soul who knows of whence she writes. (And who is also one of my longest-following Cranquistadors, so you KNOW she’s fabuloso!)

(Source: viewtoadmire)

11:54pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZW1pnwFlmEQN
  
Filed under: medical poetry 
January 15, 2012
Sometimes I Cry in Buses

                                           By Natalie Nuzzo

sometimes

          I cry in buses

I have a Dr.

          that is the twin

          of Mr. Monopoly

 

white handlebar mustache

          round bald head white

temples mustaches

          curled at the edges

varied length and fashion

today new tortoise

          shell glasses

 

I have high blood pressure

          and a tumor

I don’t know    you tell me

how I  

          feel about that

 

Dr. has a pretty tall

          Jamaican nurse

she compliments my outfits

          nails

          and jewelry

I love her         always stilettos

the most elegant

          a glamorous nurse

 

diagnoses behind closed doors

          analyzed over paper work

          computer screens

Dr. yells at me            he’s strict

          old and grumpy

the best around

          upper echelon

 

Dr. gives me pills

          says things like:

“no good deed goes unpunished”

          and

“that’s the problem 

          I’m never here”

 

I don’t understand Dr.

          he scolds me

          I forget my dosage

“you should know this”

           and

“I don’t trust my own records”

 

I swallow pills blindly pretend

          the quantity the Rx

          is invisible

I imbibe every day orange

          not brown

          not white or yellow

          my eyes forget

my medicines

 

Dr. complains to me:

          “I joined the gym

then I was sick

          I went for two weeks

then I was traveling

                  to Europe

          My gym

is right in my building

          and the gym

          is

          right in my building”

 

I don’t know what to say

so I fake laugh instead

          always the expert

in deflection

           ( at thirty I learn

          how to hold  back )

 

steel file cabinet-ed quantities

          and expensive free samples

 the “ america “n

         modern medical machine

the best kept

          secrets dangle above

          in gold-plated premiums

          and cushioned carpets

those sweet n sexy nurses

         the flat screen arrogance

of the cardiovascular

          prescription

“ america ”s most prolific legalized

          gambling industry

 

white white haired men roam

           these halls

the women  

          work the counter

 these few men hold the keys

          white mustaches white walls

white halls white coats worn by all

 

these few men who invite you

          to walk down our cash

walled halls ours

          are the most expansive

          and well-lit here we save

          hearts

bodies but not minds

           ( university medicine

only comes with

          a side of infection )

 

sometimes

          I cry in buses

I have a doctor

          that is the twin

          of Mr. Monopoly

 

I don’t know    you tell me

how I  

          feel about that

Liked posts on Tumblr: More liked posts »