University of Vermont College of Medicine Literary and Visual Arts Magazine

2014University of Vermont College of Medicine Literary and Visual Arts Magazine

so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water

“ The Red Wheelbarrow” beside the white William Carlos Williams Published in Spring and All (1923) chickens.

University of Vermont College of Medicine Literary and Visual Arts Magazine mission statement The Red Wheelbarrow is the University of Vermont College of Medicine’s student-run magazine for the literary and visual arts. Named after physician-writer William Carlos Williams’ poem, “The Red Wheelbarrow,” our publication aims to capture, cultivate and explore the creative endeavors of the medical and scienti c communities — past and present — here at UVM and its clinical education partners. The Red Wheelbarrow encourages submissions related to the medical humanities — an interdisciplinary eld that strives to contextualize and interpret topics including, but not limited to, the medical profession and education and human health and disease; however, our publication remains inclusive of all ideas and artistic pursuits outside the scope of the medical humanities.

The Red Wheelbarrow is published annually. The magazine welcomes all members of UVM College of Medicine, UVM graduate health sciences and biomedical programs, and our clinical af liates to submit work.

STAFF

MANAGEMENT VISUAL ARTS FACULTY ADVISOR Daniel Ianno Homer Chiang Robert Macauley, M.D. Matt Lin Eunice Fu Professor of Pediatrics Doug Chieffe DESIGN CONTACT Steve Wetherby LITERARY ARTS [email protected] Elizabeth May Tara Higgins Colette Oesterle Shravan Rao Jeanne Gosselin Rich Smith

CONTENTS

LITERARY ARTS Words in Wet Sand ...... 14 Untitled ...... 30 Coeur Values ...... 18 Prosopagpoemna ...... 35 Elsa ...... 22 It started with my superior tarsal muscle ...... 38 Duende ...... 25 Prodrome ...... 41

VISUAL ARTS The Wave and Beauty in Nature ...... 11 Untitled ...... 28 Prehistoric Beginnings ...... 13 Hello mystery, don’t bother to explain and Natural Symmetry ...... 15 Screw you guys I’m going home ...... 31 Falcon on Wood ...... 16 Anchor Ice ...... 32 Panda ...... 20 American Gothic Man’s Best Friend (un nished) ...... 37 Rise ...... 23 Sunset Flower ...... 40 Vermont’s Winter Veneer ...... 24 A Circuitous Current ...... 42 Sugarbush Diamond Dust ...... 27

9 PAMELA GIBSON, M.D.’90 & JANET SCHWARZ | PATHOLOGY DEPARTMENT

10 THE WAVE EM 4000X BEAUTY IN NATURE EM 4000X

11 PAMELA GIBSON, M.D.’90 & JANET SCHWARZ | PATHOLOGY DEPARTMENT

12 PREHISTORIC BEGINNINGS EM 12,000X

13 WORDS IN

DANIEL IANNO | UVMCOM 2017

WETexhausted defi nitions, premonitions SAND of lines to be drawn in the sand with the stick stuck to one’s hand. Only to be washed away, as the fl ag of the winds surrenders in a brisk wave of white, foaming fl uidity fi lling the mysterious depths drawn out Soothing, smoothing, cementing declarations into this everlasting easel of cosmic speculation…

14 NATURAL SYMETRY | IAN McDANIELS | UVMCOM 2015

15 16 FALCON ON WOOD | JESSICA FARACI | UVMCOM 2015

17 COEUR

DWIGHT PARKER | UVMCOM 2016

VALUESWhen taking in the splendid human corps The lungs — it’s true, they’re nearly all just sponge — One organ rightly shines, while others bore. Should not draw students in to take the plunge. Unfair to heart, from altar down we bring: A whole career spent sucking snot and phlegm Compare! lung and kidney — simple decor. Is meant for those more suited for the grunge.

18 Vesalius found beans in a dead man. What would we do without this piece, the heart? To him, the world is tucked ‘neath diaphragm. No ner machine yet can life impart. But we, enlightened, see this verity: Too hard to think of better things than this, Filtering piss is all they really can. The bit that hurts the most when lovers part.

The heart! Now there’s an organ for a king! When couples quarrel where’s the place to stab? Caval plus sinus blood meets welcoming The heart! The knife through skin and ribs and ab. Space, right atrium squeezes, valve swings tight, A pity, yes, to damage God’s chef d’oeuvre, And resonates soundly. These pipes can sing! But where it counts is where we get the jab.

Right ventricle does much to push along With awless pacing, muscle gives us cause! This humour so essential for the throngs Forget appendix, prostate, spleen, and pons… Who would not live but for this wondrous gift; Without it where would the enlightened be? To say it’s all-important can’t be wrong. For those content with the petit bourgeois?

After detour to sponge for oxygen Well... perhaps kidney. Bright blood returns to left heart, yes, open For more, forever more, to pump liquid Essence through body’s rampant arch, again!

19 20 PANDA | RAYMOND ADDANTE | UVMCOM 2015

21 SARAH MARSH, M.D.’14

Her laughter so deep

A baited “Hi” as I write ELSAMy Beautiful life 22 RISE | RAYMOND ADDANTE | UVMCOM 2015 ELSA 23 VERMONT’S WINTER VENEER | CARSON CORNBROOKS | ASSOCIATE PROFESSOR OF NEUROLOGICAL SCIENCES

24 DUENDECARLY MARTIN ’17 | UVM CNHS STUDENT My hands slipped. Well, not really my hands; the plastic google the terminal place where real information goes surgical gloves slipped and incidentally my hands within to die. Once it’s there it is hollow, just a fact oating in them. It was kind of a car crash, really, an unforeseeable an in nite space that doesn’t really exist; a total loss of amount of water on the road and I overestimated the turn. meaning. “Fuck.” I let the word hang in the air with the sound of I snap off the gloves, there’s really not much else to do clattering utensils. I watched the test crumple, the soft top but start again. I pick up the tools and throw them in the on the Jeep caving in. All precautions were sliced in half, sink where they clatter metal on metal. I stare down at the the seat belt straps ying uselessly free from the body. little bits of esh clinging to the scattered tools. They are “He ew something like ninety feet.” The technicians pieces of glass lying on the pavement, wet with rain and are full of facts. They spurt them out like those people who blood. They crunch under my shoes and I’m running or spend too much time on google. I’ve come to consider I’m trying.

25 Everything is white here, in movies that’s what heaven nd you. They said they got all of the glass out, but part of looks like. I’m not God but this is where all the dead come, me hopes I could nd a bloody shard. Examine it in the at least for a little while. They come lay awhile under my light, justify standing before the trumpets of silence. Realize watchful eyes. I pick them apart, sin by sin. my nial sin, the unforgivable. I am not God, but this is Some days, I see myself spread out, cold and hard. where all the dead come. Lying palms up on the stainless steel tray, a book of “He ew something like ninety feet, there wasn’t a information ready to be devoured. Pull back the crumpled prayer. Not a shot in the dark.” Technicians gossip more skin of my stomach, slice through the scar left behind after than old woman at church. Whispering behind closed they pulled you out. After I clawed my way through layers doors that aren’t soundproof, but everyone likes to pretend of fat, the sinful result of ice cream after thirty, there would they are. Maybe everyone likes to pretend. Like it isn’t be the empty hole for an appendix. It was excavated in raining, like there was never a Jeep and the soft top never January a week after Dad put the divorce papers through. crumpled and the metal bars never broke. The windshield My eyes would scrawl through chunky bits of muscle and never shattered, and you didn’t y ninety feet before you the clumped purple blood until I found my liver. Dave’s hit the ground the rst time. You never ung around like a esta of shot drowning in college would leave a pock mark ping-pong ball bouncing off the table and slamming against of ruin. I’d name her Angela after the friend I lost between a wall. My hands didn’t slip; they were never covered with white lines. too much blood. They said one day the scar tissue would go away, but I still believe, deep down, they lied. Because I know somewhere to the left of that oversized stomach I would

26 SUGARBUSH DIAMOND DUST | KRISTIN CARR | UVMCOM 2015

27 L–R: UNTITLED (DIGITAL PHOTOGRAPHY) | CHUCK SCHMITT, M.D.’89 | ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF FAMILY MEDICINE

28 29 I read once that lifelong meditators experience heightened sensations in their daily activities, UNTITLED and I remember wondering if it was like the feeling of falling in love. ELIZABETH MAY | UVMCOM 2016 Colors and smells develop smooth rounded edges, seconds do not tick but swell and bloom.

Maybe it’s like we’ve opened ourselves to a new frequency of input from the world, and it’s passing through us, cha ng nerves raw. Like how a room feels unbearably warm on stinging cheeks when we come inside from a snowstorm.

Recently I’ve realized that grief, too, has this effect. Suddenly there is sadness even in the morning commute, where we never noticed it lurking. Songs we’ve heard a hundred times seem to swallow us, or sit heavy inside our sternum and expand outward, pushing.

30 HELLO MYSTERY, DON’T BOTHER TO EXPLAIN | HOMER CHIANG | UVMCOM 2017 SCREW YOU GUYS I’M GOING HOME | HOMER CHIANG | UVMCOM 2017

31 ANCHOR ICE 1 | SUSAN LUCE | STANDARDIZED PATIENT

32 ANCHOR ICE 2 | SUSAN LUCE | STANDARDIZED PATIENT

33 ANCHOR ICE 3 | SUSAN LUCE | STANDARDIZED PATIENT

34 PROSOPAGPOEMNA

NISHAN BINGHAM | UVMCOM 2015 Wind blew over the melting ice, Swept over dust and concrete thrice ‘fore turning to my window pane Wherein some ladybugs’ remains Had littered dreams of morning Sun- Frayed ends of yesterdays begun, And struck upon me from askance A weeping wise old tired glance Compelling to drink in the dawn So that courageously I yawned And shufed down the frozen hall To check I hadn’t missed a call, When rushing back the demons came Daring never to sleep again But grow amongst the cat-tail stands Afterall nothing but human

35 AMERICAN GOTHIC MAN’S BEST FRIEND (UNFINISHED) | EMILY HADLEY STOUT | UVM COM 2016

36 37 IT STARTED WITH MY SUPERIOR TARSALJESSICA MUSCLE FARACI | UVMCOM 2015

It started with my superior tarsal muscle.

Flying over precorneal lm, the tarsal plate dove into hiding, Trembling under my supraorbital process beneath elevated brows. The radiating bers weren’t far behind. Irises retreated across clear corneas, leaving behind a chasm of darkness. Myocardial bers rapidly tightened in perfect synchronization, Propelling tumbling erythrocytes through pulsating vessels That throbbed beneath thin skin as heme imparted bright red hue to pale epidermis. ATP clutched onto myosin heads and my masseter muscle fell slack As a favorable mixture of nitrogen and oxygen rushed past my incisors. My diaphragm thrust downwards, yanking with it the visceral pleura As alveoli popped open to embrace the rush of gas.

38 My vocal cords had something to add. Nestled in their protective larynx, they twitched and shook the air, Not yet coordinated enough to make a coherent vibration. The levator labii superioris danced with the levator anguli oris And the orbicularis oculi joined in with a twirl. A myriad of catecholamines, hormones, and endorphins broke through their oodgates And a peculiar sensation of uttering insects wandered along the vagus nerve.

The brachial plexus sprang into action. Biceps brachii heaved up trembling metacarpals to cover parted labia oris As the lacrimal gland squeezed out a small drop of aqueous uid. Arrector pilorum pulled vellus hairs to attention As eccrine glands quivered with excitement and joined ranks. My vocal cords nally found their frequency “Yes,” I whispered, And the glittering crystalline lattice slid onto my fourth phalanx.

39 SUNSET FLOWER | KRISTEN CARR | UVM COM 2015

40 PRODROMEMATTHEW LIN | UVMCOM 2016 Listen closely to Whole histories packed into the vibratory hum stopgap reworks zzt, zzzt, ssst – that torpedo interrupted lives into the night. Meanwhile, satellites marvel of tungsten thread that winces at the mushroom cloud from deep space. before its light gives out, relative blindness After, to vacuum up leftover silhouettes. a crater hollowed from burnout –

A snif e that douses smoke and impossible waste caregivers in kerosene, where ground used to be. the familiar smell of Fahrenheit these are the warning signs and a nuclear separation. of a ship before it capsizes.

41 42 A CIRCUITOUS CURRENT | IAN McDANIELS | UVMCOM 2015

43 SPECIAL THANKS The Red Wheelbarrow would like to thank Ed Neuert, Editor of Vermont Medicine, for helping to spearhead the revitalization of this magazine. We would also like to thank Steve Wetherby of Wetherby Design for his creativity, time and skill in the digital construction of this publication.

THE RED WHEELBARROW2014 University of Vermont College of Medicine