Today, med school required that I spend an afternoon reading incredible poetry about the inevitability of dying alone, written by lonely patients who knew they were about to die.
Then I walked home. In the rain. And collapsed dramatically in a puddle, where I contracted tuberculosis and died. (One of these things may be a slight exaggeration slash lie.)
The point is, it was depressing. And my feelings about it remind me of a class back at Generic Midwestern U called Physics for Poets. English majors loved the idea of it, but would always get all disappointed upon realizing it actually involved math. They just didn’t see ‘math’ as being a necessary part of ‘physics’.
And now I’ve signed up for a class which is, essentially, Poetry for Med Students, and I’m disappointed that ‘poetry’ sometimes involves ‘sad emotions’. I HAVE BEEN DECEIVED.
(… also, possibly, “whining.” Or, “making poor life choices.” Take your pick.)
But I’m scheduled to spend the evening leading fun, high-energy softball drills, so I grabbed something called a “Salted Caramel Latte” at Starbucks in the hope that chemicals and sugar would treat minor depression.
The barista looked at me with some serious side-eye when I ordered my Salted latte. She explained that it might be a bit of a gamble, because all the baristas had just been trained on them.
But it was still delicious and comforting. So, if my “poetry about medicine” elective is truly code for “poetry about death”, they’re all about to get some serious weekly practice.