Guatemala Hospital Monologue

My heart raced when I looked out into the audience and realized my soul was exposed to hundreds of eyes staring back at me. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing. The music engulfed me and allowed me to escape the challenges around me. The final word “Hallelujah” sent chills down my spine. As a singer, you are in a vulnerable state. Your emotions and imperfections are on display. However, that vulnerability and emotion unites the singer with the audience. I experience this connection even more fully when interacting with patients. What started as singing in the hospital cafeteria led to volunteering as a Patient Service Ambassador. I conversed, laughed, celebrated, sang, and even cried with patients from all walks of life.
I saw a young woman with her children waiting for hours in the heat. She nervously shuffled into the health care clinic. The physician handed me the stethoscope and told me to listen to her heart. I placed the stethoscope on her warm skin and heard a sound that made my heart plummet. It did not sound like a normal heart beat, and I had an overwhelming feeling that something was wrong. I asked her if she ever had pain in her chest and she nodded. The physician nodded to confirm that she probably had serious heart disease. I felt immense frustration that she was so ill and could not afford help. I also felt helpless that I couldn’t fix it. I walked outside and found a quiet spot in the shade. One of the directors of the clinic approached me and said, “I’m sorry Tara, but we can only do so much.” My professor and the clinic director explained to her that her heart was not working efficiently. I saw her over my shoulder overwhelmed with emotion. What could I do? I asked her what she loved. Her first response was that she liked to sing. After finding a song on my phone, we sat together in the scorching sand listening to the swelling piano chords. Peace overtook my frustration and fatigue. I could not heal with my hands or medicine that day, yet I discovered the unity that stems from challenges. In times of vulnerability and fear, we lean on one another to draw strength. I have
Pahl on the Cardiac Care Unit at Lurie Children’s Hospital, I witnessed the true art of healing. A young boy’s heart was growing weaker by the day. Dr. Pahl looked at the left ventricular ejection fraction trending lower and lower. I heard one of the patient’s nurses explain that the young boy no longer had the energy to sit up and do his schoolwork. I could not stop thinking about this patient and how quickly his transplanted heart declined. Feelings of frustration, despair, and fear cycled through my brain. I returned four months later to shadow again, and I could not believe my eyes. The young boy I had seen with a failing heart was walking down the hallway towards me laughing. Not far behind him trailed the SynCardia total artificial heart. I witnessed the joy of healing that day. While taking a study break at school, I saw a news article with the smiling face I could recognize anywhere. After over a year in the hospital and a second heart transplant, he was heading home. This patient and his health care team showed me the artistic nature of medicine. Medicine is truly an art form because as a physician you are tasked with channeling your emotions and combining it with your knowledge to come up with a personalized treatment option for patients. At a time when hope was dwindling, his health care team worked together and pushed for a novel treatment. The courage of his physicians to try a novel treatment made a lasting impression. I am drawn to the