Shelter-in-Place ------------------------------------- A POETRY CONTEST APRIL 2020 A Publication of the UCSF Department of Medicine Page | 1 CONTENTS Themes “POETRY EMPOWERS THE SIMPLEST OF LIVES TO CONFRONT THE MOST EXTREME SORROWS WITH COURAGE, 15 Awarded Entries 2 AND MOTIVATES THE MIGHTIEST OF Sheltering 8 OFFICES TO HUMBLY HEED LESSONS IN COMPASSION.” Connections 10 ― ABERJHANI Distance 12 Longing & Losses 14 Virtual Life 15 March 2020 brought to our community – and our entire world – a challenging and frightening pandemic. The UCSF Department of Medicine Nature 17 (DOM) mobilized its entire workforce of staff, faculty, and trainees to prepare for the worst as shelter-in-place orders were issued and our Coping & Courage 18 healthcare facilities geared up to meet the need. Heroes & Hope 22 As the weeks marched forward and our community worked long hours, we put out a call to activate some of our higher senses – our artistic heritage. We Laughter 25 invited all members of the DOM community to engage in the work of Reflections 27 resilience through the creation of poetry. Acknowledgements 30 The 2020 Shelter-in-Poetry contest inspired the submission of 121 poems that spoke to the unique and shared experiences of our lives in the time of COVID-19. We are proud to share the results of our literary-minded colleagues in this first-of-its-kind magazine for the DOM. Authors’ thematic intentions are known only to themselves, but in order to facilitate a logical presentation, we have taken the liberty to group the poems into themes. We hope you enjoy each of these contributions and thank each and every brave member of the Department of Medicine who reached inside their hearts and minds to share everything from levity to catharsis in our ongoing journey together. Page | 2 15 Awarded Entries In no particular order This Kind of Medicine Contest Rules and the Judging of He died in the hospital room alone I was the last hand he touched Entries I was the last person he spoke to Though they wanted to be here so much Participants were asked to submit original This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice works of poetry related to some aspects of the pandemic and shelter-in-place He was discharged home alone experience. Although he had come in with his wife I was the one he thanked Entries could take any short poetic form Although it was here where she lost her life such as haiku, limerick, or freeform This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice structures. He told me he was feeling better Participants were required to be DOM He told me he had faith and hope employees and trainees. And then twelve hours later I was the one writing his death note Participants were divided into three This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice categories: staff, faculty, and trainees. I called her daughter to say A panel of judges* was created with eight Her condition is not very good DOM volunteers across all sites. She lost her father to this already Volunteers who entered poems in the She wanted us to do all we could contest were recused from voting in their This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice respective category. I told her “Dad has been intubated.” Judges conducted blinded readings of all She didn’t know what to do poetry in each category. No author names She just hung up the phone on me were included with the submissions, only And later texted “God bless you.” associated entry numbers. This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice Fifteen poems – five in each category – I never thought, ten years ago were voted as top entries. That this is what this would be I look at all of these families All remaining submissions that met the This could have easily been me call for submissions criteria appear in this This is the kind of medicine I never thought I’d practice publication as a means of sharing our talent with our community. Now it’s time to show up And allow them to feel Enjoy the creativity and impact of our Carry empathy and compassion many DOM colleagues captured here! Allow ourselves to heal This is the only part of this medicine I know how to practice Sneha Daya, MD, Assistant Professor *Please see Acknowledgements, pg. 30 UCSF Health Page | 3 Not Just Heroes Dear George Workers in healthcare are heroes, they say - Sunday afternoon at the gym "Thank you for walking into danger’s way." reading about home funerals But my days are now spent at home via Zoom and laying bodies on ice The only codes I run are for virtual rooms. I thought of my father recently passed I love counseling patients, even if just through their phones and began to see When video-chat works, I can see into their homes. beauty in the young white man on the rowing machine My patients call me a hero as well, to be fair and the Afro-Caribbean dad lifting weights "I hope things are okay for you docs down there." while his sunlit daughter pedaled the elliptical. All of us are heroes in a broad sense, no doubt - We are all trying so hard. We help our patients through crises and usher them out. Bless us. But with COVID19’s specter ever still in view The jobs of us heroes now belong to a few. Denise L. Davis, MD, Professor Thank you to those on the front lines as we speak, SFVAMC Returning to Moffitt-Long, week after week. _________________________________ You don both PPE and courage over your clothes, And so you’re not just heroes. You’re the heroes’ heroes. For the World Has Gone Quiet Now Rahul Banerjee, MD, Fellow Mesmerizing sunshine flits through the glass, UCSF Health Beckoning like a mother does to her child. _____________________________________ Come. Come outside, the golden siren calls. Warmth seeps into the ground, heralding winter’s last steps April As spring dances and floats her way in. But the streets are empty, not a human to be seen, For the world has gone quiet now. A cruel COVID month trying our resolve Little green spears push through the dirt leaving us gasping, Where the morning dew welcomes their birth. for breaths of answers Even the bees are rejoicing, buzzing among The silky pink petals of the royal sakura trees. Reclusive doldrums But there is no one to enjoy the sweet fragrance songs that are not sung Before the trees shake off their petals like snow, Hands- they hesitate For the world has gone quiet now. Mouths- masked and unkissed A little fox wanders into the backyard Did the Fates forget, Where the neighbor’s little girl would usually play to weave golden threads? Among her mother’s favorite yellow and red tulips. transforming despair The creature’s bright eyes look piercingly back into radiance As I gaze upon its rust colored pelt and curious tail. Mother Nature breathes more freely than she did in years Yet we laugh through glass For the world has gone quiet now. our voices fragrant Hearts immeasurable- Tian Yuan (Tracy) Chen, Staff Research Associate redeeming us all UCSF Health Lorraine Hart, Personnel Operations Manager UCSF Health Page | 4 Elegy for Two Dead Men One: a refugee from Cuba. Again and again, Always in white, skin black and smooth, And framed on his wall Fitting the mold from bottom to top: Appear one of my twin boys, White leather shoes, white pants, white linen shirt, And then the other. Crowned with a Havana, of course. In soccer outfits, on one knee, with a ball. The other: tall, lanky, happy and old. Maria, how can this be? A former ball player in the West Coast Negro League. Don’t you remember? Pitched for the Sea Lions You gave us those photos. 'Til he threw his shoulder out of its socket, They are like family to us. And could throw no more. I don’t recall, I say. I don’t recall. The first: always smiling, laughing even. It’s OK. Gold sparkling from a tooth. You have so many patients. Bejeweled with bling like epaulettes But none like him. From his favorite pastime: Reno with Maria The second: never sure of his age, Driving through the Fillmore, Either 93 or 88, My twins riding the back His Louisiana birth certificate, astride their tiny sister Unable to read it. In her car seat. But he knows it bears false witness. Look--there he is, the ball player, Keeps his daughter's phone number safe: Washing his beloved Studebaker Pearline - etched on the inside brim As if it’s 1950 still. Of his omnipresent baseball cap. I roll the window down and shout, L.C.! He saunters over, an athlete’s hobbling knees The former: still alive Dragging his tank. ‘Cause he quit tobacco 25 years ago My, you have beautiful children. After being filleted open to plumb his heart. The second funeral - Pearline had called Proud of his medical survival skills, He’d collapsed outside his apartment And grateful for his doctor. They said he bled into his brain. While smacking his big round belly, There was nothing they could do. Pregnant with hope and worry. I could not attend, The latter: still alive My clinic schedule booked ‘Cause he quit smoking 25 years ago With fellow sufferers, fellow survivors. After being told his lungs are vanishing. Owe my life to my doctor, Two brothers: Resilient, So he says and so he believes.