Synapses Vol. 4 (2020)

S Y N A P S E SSYNAPSES A Creative Journal of Chicago Medical School VOLUME 4, SPRING 2020 CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 1

SYNAPSES 2 ROSALIND FRANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES SYNAPSES A Creative Journal of Chicago Medical School EDITORIAL STAFF William Agbor Baiyee, PhD Editor-in-Chief Candice Kosanke Managing Editor EDITORIAL BOARD Karen Black, MD ’88 Alumna Jeffrey Bulger, PhD Faculty Barbara Hales, MD ’76 Alumna Gloria Joo Student Gwendolyn Messer, MD, FAAP Faculty Karen O’Mara, DO Faculty Julie Phelan, MD ’01 Alumna Hector Rasgado-Flores, PhD Faculty Jen Southworth Staff REVIEW BOARD Saira Ahmed Student Salvatore Aiello, MS Student Allison Cassidy Staff Andrew Chapman Student Noemi Cocone Student Christopher Collier Student Anna Dailey Student Michael Drake Student Jessica Liang Student Michelle Lim Student Alvin Onyewuenyi Student Kieran Palumbo Student Swapna Shanmugavelayutham Student Barbara Vertel, PhD Faculty JOURNAL OVERSIGHT BOARD Archana Chatterjee, MD, PhD Dean Chicago Medical School Nutan Vaidya, MD Senior Associate Dean for Academic Learning Environment, Chicago Medical School Lee Concha, MA Chief of Staff Rosalind Franklin University Shelly Brzycki Associate Vice President for Student Affairs Rosalind Franklin University Chad Ruback, MSEd, MBA Vice President for Institutional Advancement Rosalind Franklin University Judith Stoecker, PT, PhD Vice President for Academic Affairs Rosalind Franklin University CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 3

SYNAPSES Front cover: “Neural Network,” artwork by Jordan Newman, CMS ’21 Artist’s Statement: Creating creative works for this journal has been one of the best experiences in medical school for me; it has played a major role in teaching me how, at any level of talent, working to push the boundaries of what you are capable of can produce major rewards and satisfaction. The theme and title of the journal, Synapses, also represent my lifelong interest as a future neurologist. I tried to reflect the complexity of the neural network here in this work. A specific set of synapses are depicted here in negative. Most of the space contains numerous colors, textures, and styles scattered throughout at random; however, a small set of lines joined by regions of synaptic space only contain the base shades of black and gray in a specific linear pattern. The brain tissues are immensely complicated, dense, seemingly random and yet connected; it is this antithetical nature that inspired me to depict them this way. Acrylic paint on canvas. 4 ROSALIND FRANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES FROM THE EDITORIAL BOARD We are delighted to present our third volume of Synapses, the creative journal of the Chicago Medical School at Rosalind Franklin University. The works in this volume reflect the creativity, imagination and passion of our community. Our journal is named for the components in the nervous system that form the connections between neurons and allow information to pass from one neuron to another. Synapses’ inspiration and purpose is rooted in this idea of connections — the connections between science and humanities, physicians and their patients, and the readers of this journal and the authors and artists who have shared their works with us. We hope that you enjoy this year’s collection of artwork, poetry and prose reflecting on the medical profession and the human experience. Each year one art or photography submission is chosen for the front cover of the journal, and we are happy to present the colorful “Family Reunion” by Gary Bodner, MD ’75, as this year’s selection. After practicing medicine in Atlanta for 37 years, specializing in obstetrics and gynecology, Dr. Bodner retired to focus on one of his other passions: art. He enjoys painting all subjects, from still lifes to landscapes to figures, and finds artistic inspiration for his work in nearly everything he encounters. “Family Reunion” reflects his interest in the anatomy of the human face. We acknowledge the dedication of our review, editorial, and oversight boards to the development of another quality volume of Synapses. We appreciate all submitters for sending their creative works and congratulate the authors whose works are published in this volume. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 5

SYNAPSES ABOUT SYNAPSES Synapses is a creative journal of Chicago Medical School at Rosalind Franklin University. The journal provides a forum for the expression and dissemination of creative works demonstrating Chicago Medical School’s commitment to develop a community of reflective learners and practitioners. The journal seeks to publish on an annual basis quality works that focus on experiences in medicine and expressions of the human condition. Submissions of creative works of poetry, art, photography, fiction and non-fiction, including narrative and reflections, to Synapses are open to faculty, staff, students, residents, fellows and alumni of Chicago Medical School. Alumni non-fiction submissions may be considered for inclusion in the “Alumni Retrospectives” section. Each submission is reviewed blindly at two levels, first by reviewers followed by editors. Authors will be notified of editorial decisions. Submissions will open in mid-October and close in mid-January. The journal is published annually in the spring. To view past volumes and information about the submission process, please visit http://rfu.ms/synapses. © 2020 Rosalind Franklin University of Medicine and Science. The University has obtained permission to use the literary and artistic works that appear in this journal. The authors reserve all other copyrights for their works. All ideas and opinions expressed belong to the authors. Credit for images on back cover and page 4: iStock. 6 ROSALIND FRANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES TABLE OF CONTENTS Automobile-space Sophia Falmagne, CMS ’22 14 17 POETRY A Walk on the Bluff Leo Kelly, MD 32 36 In Those Eyes William Agbor Baiyee, PhD 42 53 A Poem on Oldness Mervyn Sahud, MD ’64 57 64 Thank You for Your Service Matthew Christensen, CMS ’21 The Prognosis Jonathan Winegarden, CMS ’21 Winter Oak Pond Mervyn Sahud, MD ’64 A River Runs Through It Leo Kelly, MD Yin and Yang Gloria Joo, CMS ’21 12 19 FINE ART A School G a r y B o d n e r , M D ’ 7 5 22 Nervous System Michaela Harrow-Mortelliti, 23 26 C M S ’ 2 2 31 33 Equilibrium P r a g a t i M a m t o r a , C M S ’ 2 0 35 Abyss J o r d a n N e w m a n , C M S ’ 2 1 Shifting Light Gary Bodner, MD ’75 RF Ablation at a Mission Kuhn Hong, MD Hospital Mednica S w a p n a S h a n m u g a v e l a y u t h a m , C M S ’ 2 0 CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 7

SYNAPSES Search and Destroy Jordan Newman, CMS ’21 40 43 Medical Occupational Hazard Jacqueline Valkanet — Pareidolia Art 44 Purkingenuity Swapna Shanmugavelayutham, 50 C M S ’ 2 0 51 52 X-Ray Reading at a Mission Kuhn Hong, MD 60 Hospital 61 66 Absolute Zero Gloria Joo, CMS ’21 Wandering Matthew Tan, CMS ’22 First Cut Gloria Joo, CMS ’21 Red Painted Nails Kayla Quebral, CMS ’23 Red Birds Gary Bodner, MD ’75 Trust the Process Jonathan Winegarden, CMS ’21 11 16 PHOTOGRAPHY Manhattan Bridge A n t h o n y H i n r i c h 20 30 Journey to the Edge M e l i s s a C h e n , M D 49 53 Flowering Maple Barbara Vertel, PhD 56 Anemone C a n d i c e K o s a n k e The Summer Mirek Dundr, PhD Footprints M e l i s s a C h e n , M D 8 ROSALIND FRANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES Virginia Rail Mirek Dundr, PhD 59 63 Hummingbird Andrew Bullen, PhD 65 Keep Going M e l i s s a C h e n , M D Sammy Sidharth Mahapatra, MD ’09 10 18 NON-FICTION My Magical Stethoscope Melody Fang, CMS ’21 24 The Physics of Burnout 27 A k s h a y P a t e l , C M S ’ 2 1 34 Lunch with Frank and Julie Mervyn Sahud, MD ’64 37 46 A Medical Student Opens Sidharth Mahapatra, MD ’09 54 His Eyes 58 62 Erica Lestmann Jokl Paul Kiell, MD ’56 Timothy R o g e r S o l l , M D ’ 7 8 Sixty-Three Years of Reflection Michael Mittelmann, MD ’57 William A m b e r F e a r o n , C M S ’ 2 0 Carpe Diem! S i d h a r t h M a h a p a t r a , M D ’ 0 9 CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 9

SYNAPSES SIDHARTH MAHAPATRA, MD ’09, PhD ’09 Sammy Sammy was a five-year-old boy who had lived his whole life in a nursing home. He had been born with a severe neurologic defect that left him paralyzed, non-verbal, and cognitively impaired. He had a rare genetic condition that has yet to be mapped completely. He was dependent on a breathing tube, a feeding tube, a urine tube, and a stool tube to survive. One would think from my description that his was not a life worth living for him. But, his mother believed differently. When one life finds meaning in another, who are we to say or think otherwise? Sammy’s mother knew not only that she had a meaningful relationship with him, but that he reciprocated her love. In fact, she showed me movies on her camera of him actually moving his hands and batting at objects and making sounds so as to speak. It was incredible! He was doing things we could not believe. And one could not deny the effort the child was making for his mom, after seeing countless such movies on her camera, taken so carefully for the eons of memories to follow. Then Sammy suffered a stroke that left him comatose. His mom was by his bedside from the minute he hit the ICU. An inexperienced, wide-eyed intern, I cared for this little boy through the ten days he spent with us. Sammy’s parents made the decision to withdraw life support on September 1 at 14:12, nine days into his hospitalization, after countless care conferences and an eternity of thought. We took him off life support. Time stood still; I stood more still, trying to be there for them, not knowing what my presence would add or detract. Sammy’s dad asked, “Sid, is this your first?” I answered, “Yes sir.” He said, “I want you to stay.” I said, “Yes sir.” That was the extent of my intervention, my contribution: one-word answers and silence. I stood there and watched as Sammy’s mother held him in her arms and wept, and as his life slipped slowly away into the solemn tranquility. 14:58: No signs of spontaneous breaths, no chest rise, no pulse, no heartbeat. I listened again; I could not afford to make a mistake, this was it... I held my breath to prevent my own breathing, my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, from interfering. His heart had in fact stopped. I looked up, our eyes locked, I closed my eyes briefly, a tear escaping the gargantuan effort I was making to stay unaffected. 10 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES SIDHARTH MAHAPATRA, MD ’09, PhD ’09 But I am just an intern, just a boy, just a mere human, given the staggering task of pronouncing Sammy’s death to his mom. She understood. I backed away, hoping for the darkness of the room to swallow me. Sammy was pronounced at 15:00 EST on 09/01/09. His mother hugged me tight and said, “Thank you, Sid.” I had done nothing to speak of; maybe that was enough. ■ Trust the Process JONATHAN WINEGARDEN, CMS ’21 Artist’s Statement: Taken on Lake St . C lair, Se pte mbe r 2 01 9. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 11

SYNAPSES GLORIA JOO, CMS ’21 Yin and Yang 12 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES Artist’s Statement: Paintings gifted to preceptors for radiology elective. 18x24” each, acrylic paint. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 13

SYNAPSES SOPHIA FALMAGNE, CMS ’22 Automobile-space That white Toyota is trapped inside the heaven of my head, even though I don’t believe in heaven and even though it still spends its days breathing in a U of C parking lot. That boy who drives it still lets it stutter its way to buy groceries, still lets it encapsulate the special smell of my youth— But he is probably not a boy any more than his automobile is at home in the industrial forest of 61st and Cottage Grove. Inside it we glide on Lakeshore Drive as the weather hints at summer and all the other cars bottleneck their way to Foster Beach. He changes lanes away from the coast: our Chicago laughter is a ghost of the years we roamed in this white Toyota up and down Pacific Coast Highway, next to water we now call the Real Ocean. I was never the one who drove. I love the story of how this car pussyfooted its way to the Midwest. It is a yarn that boy likes to tell, about his mother’s droning talk beside him, all through California, Kansas, Missouri. In Colorado they bought a legal cookie laced with THC. And at the edge of the state, the mother refused to continue with their quasi-contraband— to save his treasure, he ate the whole thing. And onwards the white car sputtered, that boy high and happy as the Chicago wind racing to greet him, mother babbling on oblivious to her son. 14 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES One day he gathers me as I stand on a corner of North Clark Street, just outside the Chicago History Museum, where I told him I’d be. He rolls down a window of the car and his face waxes to its own painting in the glassless frame; if my eyes cut out the rest of the city, then the white blur is no longer a transitional space: the landscape of Chicago becomes a wide, metallic moving belt wrenching beneath my stationary white Toyota. In the passenger seat, I feel that I am sinking soundly into an ageless routine: I navigate and laugh in the familiar novelty of the fact that the person next to me listens, inside our private moving room. We are a remnant of California, racing through our unknowable Chicago— for a moment, both places exist in the same space. ■ CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 15

SYNAPSES ANTHONY HINRICH, STAFF Manhattan Bridge Artist’s Statement: The Manhattan Bridge bears a striking resemblance to the synapse in its ability to connect. Several modes of transit converging onto its two decks create a dynamic environment and testify to its importance. The intricate construction and aging materials remind us of the complex challenges we face to maintain nervous system health. 16 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES L E O K E L LY, M D, FAC U LT Y A Walk on the Bluff This morning I walked a path I have wandered Many times before. Misty gray ceiling above and damp, Brown leafy floor. My only companions were the soft-spoken, Cold, November rain And the naked, shivering trees shaking off Their few tatters that remain. Along my way I come across A long-forgotten low stone wall. I stop a moment to ponder; How long to count them all? Whose hands lifted and placed These stones just so. I wonder how long it took and Was it long, long ago? Beyond the stone fencerow, Across the harvested fields of hay The slate gray sky turns midnight blue Above the bay. Alone on the bluff I pause Not lonely, I do not brood, Rather, for a moment I revel In my solitude. As I turn back to face The wind and rain I walk the same well-worn path Home again. This path has not changed but, Just as Winter replaces Fall So too, do the paths we walk Change us all. ■ CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 17

SYNAPSES MELODY FANG, CMS ’21 My Magical Stethoscope The start of third year of medical school marks the beginning of clinical years, a huge transition from just “studying the books” in the first two years. I was eager to start applying myself, as I would begin with my pediatrics rotation. After six quick weeks, it was my very last day of my pediatrics rotation. I was working in the outpatient clinic and was responsible for seeing the next two patients (sisters) on my own before the doctor did. They were here for their annual physicals, and after I opened the door and introduced myself to the mom and her two daughters, I instantly recognized the older sister, who was seven. I asked her if she remembered me, and she excitedly replied, “Yes!” I explained to the mom that I had seen her daughter the previous week when she came in with her dad for a stye in her left eye. She looked miserable and uncomfortable at the last visit, but this was clearly no longer the case. The girl happily announced that her stye had cleared up. I began asking the routine questions: “How is your diet? What do you usually eat for breakfast?” She told me she ate either muffins, pancakes, or cereal for breakfast. I asked her what kind of muffins she liked best, and she told me her favorites were blueberry or chocolate muffins. I finished with the rest of my questions and then had her lay down on the exam table. I told her I would be listening to her stomach with my stethoscope and would hear her breakfast. As I was listening, I asked her what she ate for breakfast, and she told me she had eaten a muffin. I listened to her stomach at a few more locations, paused, and said, “Oh! I hear the muffin!” After listening some more, I pretended to think and listen intently, and said “Hmmm…was it blueberry?!” Her jaw dropped immediately and she exclaimed, “Yeah! How’d you know?!” and started to laugh in shock and amazement. Her five-year-old sister, who was sitting on the chair in the room with the mom, was also in awe and speechless. The younger sister was next, but I could tell that she had become less scared of the physical exam and the stethoscope I had to use to examine her, as she eagerly climbed onto the exam table when it was her turn. I could have easily just moved on from question to question without asking the “unnecessary” details, like what her favorite muffin was. I could have finished the patient encounter more quickly if I went faster on the abdominal exam. However, these moments are what build the patient-physician rapport, no matter what age the patient is. For me, talking to children just comes more naturally and is easier for me than holding a conversation with adults. Maybe it is the child that is still in me or maybe it is me not wanting to face the responsibilities of an adult. Making children happy is a rewarding experience for me, and making the doctor’s visit a more fun and relaxing one encourages children to have a doctor’s visit at least annually. No one really wants to be at the doctor’s office for a checkup, but it does not have to be a bad and boring experience. I am sure the two girls might now think that stethoscopes can tell what someone ate for breakfast, but the goal is to still be able to have that continued patient-physician rapport even when they are older and no longer think that stethoscopes are magical. 18 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES MELODY FANG, CMS ’21 Being able to help take care of kids every day for the six weeks of my rotation was an experience that made me realize that I wanted to work with children as a future physician, even though I do not know yet what specialty I want to go into. Whatever specialty I choose, I hope I will continue to bring joy and laughter with my magical stethoscope. ■ A School GARY BODNER, MD ’75 Artist’s Statement: Mixed media on canvas. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 19

SYNAPSES ME LISSA CH E N, MD, FACULTY Journey to the Edge 20 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES Artist’s Statement: Aurlandsfjord, Norway. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 21

SYNAPSES MICHAELA HARROW-MORTELLITI, CMS ’22 Nervous System Artist’s Statement: Our whole worlds are dependent on this frail creature, the nervous system, by whose grace we exist. Ink and water on paper. 22 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES PRAGATI MAMTORA, CMS ’20 Equilibrium Artist’s Statement: Acrylic paint on canvas. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 23

SYNAPSES A K S H AY PAT E L , C M S ’ 2 1 The Physics of Burnout Having studied physics in undergrad I tend to think of stress in that sense: pressure or tension exerted on an object. This is not to say that the larger amongst us can handle more stress (tell that to the version of me that was binging on Taco Bell the other day after a long shift), but that the more experience or resilience we have can make handling stress easier. In this case, resilience = A. Of course, with a large denominator the larger the numerator, force (workload, life, obligations, health, etc), would have to be in order to increase the stress. Some in healthcare are more resilient than others for whatever reason — previous hardships, larger family or financial support, or some other factor. Some do not have these support networks or have other factors in their lives out of their control — children, families, greater financial burdens, their health, etc. Let’s talk about strain now: Strain occurs when something is extended beyond its original length. I think you see where I’m going here. So, what’s the relationship between stress and strain? Let’s see: (PhysicsNet, 2012) • L = the limit of proportionality. Hooke’s law applies up to this point. This is the range stress is handled well. The signs of burnout are present now. 24 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES A KS H AY PAT E L , C M S ’ 2 1 • E = elastic limit. Beyond this point the material is permanently stretched and it will not go back to its original length. Anything beyond here is not just burnout, but dangerous. • Y = yield point. Beyond this point small increases in force give much bigger increases in length. Any additional stress can be detrimental to this “material”. • B = breaking point/breaking stress. The material breaks at this point. And here we sadly arrive at the suicide epidemic in physicians. We’ve all heard the complaints about mandatory wellness lectures, and about the “enigma” of why physicians are burning out. There’s no secret to it in my opinion — it all comes back to the F variable from earlier — force. Sure, we can all benefit from improving our resilience, but there’s a path of lesser resistance that should be addressed first. I’ve seen attendings, residents, and students displacing this stress on each other or those under them. It’s toxic, hurtful, and doesn’t solve the problem. It’s often clear they’re approaching their limit of proportionality or have maybe even passed it. It not only creates an improper learning environment, but can ultimately lead to sentinel events for patients, and often death for the physicians or students themselves. The math is clear — now we just have to find the solution. References: 1. (2012). Retrieved from PhysicsNet: http://physicsnet.co.uk/a-level-physics-as-a2/materials/stress- strain ■ CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 25

SYNAPSES JORDAN NEWMAN, CMS ’21 Abyss Artist’s Statement: This work represented my mindset approaching Step 1 of the United States Medical Licensing Exam. I was struggling at the time; I was isolating myself, and I felt as though my goal was entrenched in a dark pit that was impossible to reach yet difficult to climb out of. The further I looked down, the more the weight of my circumstances weighed upon me. I found these feelings impossible to ignore, and I chose to represent them visually here as staring into a dark abyss. Acrylic paint on canvas. 26 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES MERVYN SAHUD, MD ’64 Lunch with Frank and Julie I was warmly surprised to get a call and email one day recently from my friend Frank. It was so long ago that we had met each other as patient and physician. Frank had been perfectly well since his illness in 1984. He and his wife Julie were coming to my hometown for a wedding and wanted very much to take us to lunch. In anticipation of this, the memories of his illness came back to me crystal clear. Frank had had an abnormal blood count (the white blood cells were too high) and was feeling awful. I was the hematologist on board that day and was apprehensive, not knowing or having received any of the current lab work. So we met and introduced the ladies (his wife, Julie, and mine, Jacqueline) at Café Prima. After we sat down, I asked to all hold hands in a circle and awkwardly said some prayerful thoughts that we had been brought together at this special, near spiritual time. It had not occurred to me to give the details of his illness to my wife. So my Jackie said, “I’m not exactly sure of why we are here together?” Julie warmly said, “It’s because your husband saved Frank’s life from acute lymphocytic leukemia.” Well, the eerie silence that followed engulfed us all emotionally, unaware of our surroundings. I, flummoxed and embarrassed, said, “Enough, let’s enjoy lunch.” But I could not enjoy the salad without remembering as my mind drifted rapidly to the case. ***** Frank’s spleen and lymph nodes were enlarged, and some superficial bruises were noted as I examined him. His wife Julie could understand my concern as we went through the exam and obtained more information about the timeframe of symptoms. With each question, I could see and feel the growing anxiety from Julie, but not so much from Frank. His white blood cell count (WBC) was 64,000 (normal is 5,000 to 10,000). All the cells were lymphoblasts, later confirmed by special staining in the pathology lab. Frank was experiencing fevers and aching bones (pressure on the nerve fibers within the periosteum of bones due to pressure of expanding lymphoblasts). He had no appetite and had occasional shaking chills. Treatment was an enormous challenge. At that point in time, patients were classified pending prognostic indicators that were still primitive. Although his data was encouraging, the treatment was geared toward eradication of all blast leukemic cells, which created a grave risk for infections. At that time (1984), we did not have 24-hour housestaff, so the responsibility was left to me, my colleagues, and the excellent nursing staff. We had to move fast, but first we had a conference with all parties to make certain Frank and Julie were CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 27

SYNAPSES MERVYN SAHUD, MD ’64 completely clear on the pros and cons of this treatment plan. I must say, ten years later I would have immediately transferred him to the university for this treatment in a trial. In those days, the treatment plan was the well-accepted “7+3”(cytosine arabinoside and daunomycin) and often referred to as “Paleolithic” in the sense that nobody recovered without complete annihilation of all white blood cells. It was a primitive treatment compared to our current tools, which include immune targeted therapy, allotransplantation, CAR-T cell directed therapy, and the ability to control tumor lysis syndrome and the many new antifungal and antiviral therapies. Yet even in those days, there was a cure rate…but it was only 5 percent, and perhaps 30 percent with a matched sibling transplant. ***** Nearly 24 days after completion of chemotherapy (so-called D+24 of post-chemotherapy) complications occur with the absence of phagocytizing neutrophils and macrophages, often leaving the patient with fungal pneumonia and frequent red blood cell and platelet transfusions. Frank suffered greatly in the intensive care unit (ICU) with reverse isolation. He was despondent, but always managed to respond on my frequent visits with staff carefully going over his antifungal (amphotericin) meds and others, and waiting for bone marrow recovery. I remembered the nights staying with him, not letting the wonderful nursing staff send me home. He will not die. He is too young. I will be here for him and for the immediacy of the constantly changing events that occur when there are no white blood cells. The story changed hourly. Waiting for the leukophoresis team to give us a much needed “buffy coat.” No granulocyte stimulating factors available, systolic blood pressure barely holding at 90mm Hg. Red blood cells every four days, platelet transfusions every two to three days. And then, Frank’s father showed up from Ithaca, New York: a professor, at Cornell University, no less. After watching his son in the unit, looking tearfully at the poorly surviving situation, he then started in at me in the conference room with staff. It seemed I only had Frank’s wife Julie (his legal guardian) on my side completely. I listened to this parent describe his boy, so healthy and positive about life in every way, and demand to know how I could do this to him. How could he possibly recover when he could not eat, could barely talk, and was mentally cloudy? It was not the first time I had these “incriminating” arguments from a parent ventilating his anger and disappointment. I listened quietly and said I still had great hope. He was young, without comorbid conditions, and we were on the cusp of marrow recovery. And on Day +25, Frank slowly began to recover. His temperature was 99 degrees Fahrenheit in the morning. I got a frantic call that his WBC was 400! His chest film showed slight clearing of the infiltrates. I rushed to do a buffy coat smear to see if neutrophils (the phagocytozing cells) were indeed present. No blast cells seen. Day +26. WBC 700 and blood pressure off pressors 102 mmHg. Mental state clearing. Frank saying, “I want some applesauce!” Oral cavity showed resolving ulcerations. 28 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES MERVYN SAHUD, MD ’64 Frank had to suffer through two consolidation treatments and several more bone marrow exams. His bone marrow and blood smears continued to show healthy blood cells. Eventually, he did not need transfusions and his platelet count recovered to normal. The marrow, however, always remained “hypoplastic” and we wanted at that time to preserve stems cells in liquid nitrogen just in case of a relapse. The only center doing this work at the time was the University of Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha. I discussed the case in detail with a doctor there, and she agreed to do the procedure. Frank and I left for Omaha two weeks later. He stayed in the Red Cross Blood Bank on the campus of the medical center for the procedure, and two days later we returned home. The stem cell yield was modest and remained frozen in liquid nitrogen with DMSO. It was never needed. ***** At the restaurant, Frank and Julie showed us pictures of their two children. We had a nice afternoon together. I’m sure we will share Christmas cards yearly as in the past. ***** Epilogue: The Five Percenters Frank was and is a “five percenter.” As previously mentioned, even with the classic “7+3” treatment program that hematologists have used for over three decades, the cure rate for acute lymphocytic leukemia has been 5 percent, and 30 percent with a transplant but with the issues of rejection affecting quality of life. In 1985, I visited MD Anderson Cancer Center as a guest lecturer. My topic was “Immune Mediated Drug Induced Thrombocytopenia.” Its role often interfered with ongoing treatment of post-chemotherapy patient care just when platelet recovery was expected. After my talk, given mainly to resident and fellow staff, a tall, distinguished-looking gray-haired professor was introduced to me. This was Dr. Emil Freireich, the Ruth Harriet Ainsworth Distinguished Professor. Dr. Freireich smiled and joked, “That was an interesting talk, but I don’t believe any of it.” This tongue-in- cheek comment was followed by an invitation: “Would you like to come to my clinic at 2:00 PM?” So I went to his clinic and passed through a nicely designed waiting room, with comfy chairs filled with mainly older men and women about the age of 60-70 years. Inside his office, Dr. Freireich softly whispered to me, “These are the 5 percent.” These are people cured of acute leukemia who received only the “7+3” and nothing else, although some of the older ones received VAMP. No transplants or immunotherapy. They were a living example of the chosen few living a normal life, often coming back with family to say hello. Dr. Freireich maintained two clinics a week with patients from all over who came back to see him, get their blood count, and to continue to say thank you every year. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 29

SYNAPSES MERVYN SAHUD, MD ’64 References: 1. Yates, JW, Wallace, HJ Jr. and Ellison, RR: Cytosine Arabinoside (NSC-63878) and Daunomycin (NSC- 83142) Therapy in Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. Cancer Chemother Rep, 1973:57(4):485-488. 2. Siegal, RJ, Miller, KD, Jenal, A. Cancer Statistics, 2019 Cancer J Clin,2019;69(1)7-34. 3. Raza, Azra. The First Cell, 2019, Hachette Book Group. ■ Flowering Maple B A R B A R A V E RT E L , P h D, FAC U LT Y Artist’s Statement: This flowering maple lives with me in my kitchen garden window. Also known as a parlor maple, it is an abutilon, and not actually a maple. Flowering maples were popular during the Victorian era, later fell out of favor in the world of gardening, but have recently returned. I love the delicate, partly transparent flowers, especially set against the winter’s snow in the distance. 30 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY 30

SYNAPSES GARY BODNER, MD ’75 Shifting Light Artist’s Statement: CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 31 Mixed media on canvas. 31

SYNAPSES WIL L IA M AG BO R BAIYE E , Ph D, FACULTY In Those Eyes In those eyes you see my essence emerge like an eagle. In those eyes I see your image reflect like a mirror. In those eyes you see my idea spread like a wave. In those eyes I see your step wobble like a weeble. In those eyes you see my laughter burst like a bubble. In those eyes I see your ego melt like a candle. In those eyes you see my face shine like a star. In those eyes I see your gift transform like a butterfly. In those eyes We look for our light. Do we see our path? ■ 32 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES KU HN HO NG , MD, FACULTY RF Ablation at a Mission Hospital Artist’s Statement: Education is considered to be one of the most important portions of the service to foreign medical facilities. I have had the privilege of working at the Myungsung Christian Medical Center in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for the last five years as a volunteer radiologist. I also taught the medical students of Myungsung Medical College attached to the hospital. RF (Radiofrequency) Ablation for HCC (Hepatocellular Carcinoma) is highly sophisticated procedure done by Interventional Radiologists. I had the privilege to start the first two- year Interventional Radiology Fellowship with five Ethiopian radiologists from 2016 to 2018, in collaboration with the volunteer radiologists from Korea. Not only the trainees but also medical students came to the Angio Suite to observe the procedures. I painted this memorable moment to share with students, faculty and friends of RFUMS. 38 x 31 inches, Oil Painting on Canvas, 2018 CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 33

SYNAPSES SIDHARTH MAHAPATRA, MD ’09, PhD ’09 A Medical Student Opens His Eyes Since the third year of my medical school, I’ve been using the writing medium as a form of catharsis. This was the first excerpt I wrote as a third-year medical student during my surgery rotation at Mount Sinai Hospital in January 2008. Amidst the business of a neurosurgery elective, while examining post-operative patients and discussing traumatic brain injuries, a report arrived about a 6-year old boy who was shot point-blank in the head during a robbery. He was wheeled into the ER, and the code echoed across the halls as the team mobilized to meet the patient. He was rapidly stabilized and whisked away to the OR. The pediatric neurosurgeon arrived and began to work. The operating room was not as lively as usual, despite the music droning in the background. The surgeon worked with laser-sharp precision. His nurses buzzed about him, handing him all the necessary tools, tending to the patient’s vital signs, and wasting not a moment in indecision or doubt. The resident and I flanked the surgeon, assisting him on the surgical field. His eyes were clear, he never broke a sweat, his hands wove magic into the wound, removing dead tissue, preserving live brain, cleaning, dressing, exploring, stitching. I watched intently. My gloved hands lay gently on the child’s iodine-stained forehead. I could feel the blood in his head pounding under my fingers. I could feel my own heartbeat at my fingertips. They differed so vastly: his a fast-paced, lively beat, mine a slower, tense beat. I prayed some of my vitality into him, wishing I could transfer some of that life’s source through my throbbing veins into his. This little child, merely a seedling, naïve to life’s complexities, had fallen victim to a crime bringing us all to our knees in disbelief and prayer. My mind was torn asunder with unanswerable questions. For the sake of cold, hard cash, is there no extent to the harm one is willing to inflict? Where is the man who lay to waste centuries of oppression through his defiant acts of non-violence? Where are his brothers who bestowed freedom to the oppressed in the same manner? Where is the mother who held and nurtured orphans all her life? Where is He who sacrificed Himself to wash the sins of his brothers and sisters? Here, a large proportion of our surgical candidates are hardened criminals and their unfortunate victims: gunshot wounds, stab wounds, burn victims of all ages. Yet, we stoically adhere to our Hippocratic oath and fulfill a duty we have sworn to uphold, sending back to health the very men who shot this child. Life has seen no greater irony. And so, in the traumatic gunshot wounds of an innocent 6-year old child, I stumbled upon the answer to a question that has puzzled me since the start. Why do so many medical students lose their idealism and adopt a hardened exterior of cynicism as physicians? Bone-chilling temperatures blanket Chicago over the next few days, spreading an eerie peace through the web of deceit, greed, and hate lurking outside. The number of traumas declines dramatically — a blessing in disguise after a heinous crime. ■ 34 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES SWA P N A S H A N M U G I AV E L AY U T H A M , C M S ’ 2 0 Mednica Artist’s Statement: Approaching the end of my medical school training, I wanted to create a piece that conveyed something of my, and I suspect many others, experiences these last few years and foreshadowed some of the challenges we may face up ahead. The style, tableau and title are a nod to Pablo Picasso’s “Guernica”, a painting depicting a devastating bombing of the namesake city by Nazis during the Spanish Civil War. While I would never presume to equate medical school to the trauma of war, I would respectfully imitate the mood conveyed by Picasso in his famous work here in the hopes of drawing attention to the challenges — personal, professional, and psychological — wrought by medical training. Drawn on paper, redesigned and colored using the PENUP application. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 35

SYNAPSES MERVYN SAHUD, MD ’64 A Poem on Oldness Grumble, grumble, why all these pains? Let me play, free of these troubles Grumble, grumble, why bother and restrain Let me out, I’ll blow bubbles Grumble, grumble, a few feet, not bad Let me breathe deeply, fresh air Grumble, grumble, a few feet is sad Aches and groans are really not fair Grumble, mumble, what did she say? Come closer, over here, Mr. Grumbles Mumble, mumble, I try to convey Grumble, mumble my time away. ■ 36 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES PAUL KIELL, MD ’56 Erica Lestmann Jokl (1909-2003) A reflection on the life and legacy of Erica Lestmann Jokl, a physical education teacher, written by one of her husband’s students who was also a friend of the family. Erica Lestmann grew up in a fairly aristocratic family in downtown Berlin, on a farm set in the middle of the city. Her athletic prowess was soon evident; she had her own racing scull kept moored at the canal upon which her family’s house stood. She raced her scull competitively, while also learning the traditional household skills expected of her. Her accomplishments in sports would become legion, with much of her success born of an attitude that would be a metaphor for her life. For example, she was on the German National Stick Ball Team. It was a game played using a narrow stick and a small ball that you had to field, throw, and try to hit one of the runners. She excelled in the sport in spite of her poor eyesight; that is, she was quite near-sighted. Still, she’d compete in sports without her eyeglasses, explaining, “I’d squint and watch where everyone was moving.” At the 1928 Olympic games in Amsterdam, Holland, the German women’s gymnastics team was strictly chaperoned. They slept on Erica is the third runner from the right in this 1928 hay and their weight was taken daily. Gain a photo of Germany’s women’s gymnastics Olympic team. pound or two and you were banished from the team. Note in the photo below that the uniforms were white. There were no national emblems, no identifying marks, no product endorsements. Since the creation of the modern Olympics in 1896, the Olympics were supposed to be a competition of individuals, not of nationalism. The white uniforms were supposed to reflect that purity. Earlier Erica had graduated from the Sports University in Berlin and became a sports teacher in Breslau, Germany, (now Wroclaw, Poland). There she met Dr. Ernst Jokl, the first Director of the Breslau Sports Medicine Institute. They married in 1933. “My father was Jewish, and my mother was Lutheran,” wrote their son, Peter. “My mother was the one who originally got into trouble with the political authorities because she didn’t salute the [Nazi] flag the way they wanted her to. When this came to a head, they just decided to leave Germany.” Peter further explained that they went to South Africa because that was the only place that would accept them. The United States refused. The only countries that accepted emigrants at the time were South Africa and Australia. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 37

SYNAPSES PAUL KIELL, MD ’56 In South Africa, Erica taught physical education in mission stations and later in the Technical College and public-school systems. She would continue to assert herself in moral conflicts. After witnessing an accident where a black person had been injured, “She had the audacity to go to court and testify on behalf of the black person — a crime that was unforgivable,” said Peter. Although Erica and Ernst had found refuge in South Africa, their beginnings were not easy. Ernst had his doctorate and Erica her sports teacher’s certificate/diploma, but against the background of local professionals protecting their turf, Ernst had to go to medical school all over again to get re-certified. The Jokls lived in relatively primitive conditions, with Erica working in a sporting goods store demonstrating athletic equipment. Later she taught physical education at various institutes while continuing to participate in track and field contests. Sometime in the early 1940s, a documentary exercise video was made of her teachings to children’s groups. Fortunately, these films were preserved and recently uploaded to YouTube. They can be found by typing “Children’s Exercises with Erica Jokl” into the search bar. Erica had conceived and developed the film. In her physical education class for children, she likened the positions of animals to the principles of movement, such as the way an elephant walks. Behind it all there was always that joy in physical movement, coupled with the wish to share that joy with all peoples, always with a sprinkling from her sense of ethics, of morality, of right and wrong. Erica Lestmann Jokl’s Children’s Class But in 1950, when apartheid became national policy, Ernst Jokl was reprimanded by the South African government for “fraternizing with non-Europeans.” The Jokls then emigrated to the United States in 1951. Ernst and Erica found a home in Lexington, Kentucky, where Erica taught both privately and for 12 years at Lexington Catholic High School. More noteworthy was her sense of social justice. She was active in the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) and the local Civil Rights Movement in Lexington from 1953-1959. Their parents’ sense of social justice made a large impression on their two children, Marion and Peter. Marion Ball writes, “She would go to Woolworths and take part in the sit-in when African-Americans were not allowed to eat at the counter. She took Peter with her and both of them sat at the counter in support 38 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES PAUL KIELL, MD ’56 of Blacks not being served and took all kinds of verbal and even at times physical abuse. I recall water thrown in their faces. It was 1954. Peter must’ve been about 12 years old at the time and I’m sure some of these experiences molded him into the highly ethical brother I am so proud of.” Erica was “for all of us the moral compass of the family,” Marion recalled. “My mother had such a strong vision of right and wrong.” Erica also found a joy in physical movement, which was expressed in her everyday life. For instance, their Volkswagen had a manual transmission because stick shifting was for Erica “good for the arms.” When Erica and Ernst would travel, Erica would carry their baggage, considering it her responsibility. She also did the yard work at their home in Lexington. One of her traditions was to climb up the big holly tree and bring down the branches to cut them up for holly wreaths, which she gave to everyone who helped her during the year. She would wait for the garbage man at the curb to present the wreath. She did these things because of the joy she found in her everyday physical activities. Part of her 2003 obituary read: “Erica was a devoted wife and mother. Her husband, Ernst Jokl, an internationally renowned expert in Sports Medicine, died in December 1997. Erica has resided in Baltimore, Maryland since his death to be closer to her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.” But the true words for Erica were written many centuries earlier, in Proverbs 31:10-31: “Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies . . . . She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms . . . . She openeth her mouth with wisdom and in her tongue is the law of kindness.” ■ CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 39

SYNAPSES JORDAN NEWMAN, CMS ’21 Search and Destroy Artist’s Statement: “Search” is the first of two works created to exemplify the purpose of the macrophage. The goal of this immune cell is to locate, consume and eliminate harmful particles from the body. They may be considered the “police of the body,” and they are capable of many functions. One of the remarkable qualities of these cells is their ability to move throughout tissues while hunting invaders, and that detective quality is depicted here. The grid pattern is intended to represent a cage, which is used here to exemplify the macrophage. The dark center embodies the heart of the cell itself, while the multi-colored background is indicative of other tissue, cell extensions, background, and a sense of orientation. The focus is directed centrifugally, with the direction of activity spreading outwards as the cell explores its surroundings. This extends into the lining of the grid, seemingly using all available means to further its reach. The dark center both captures attention and reflects it toward the borders, similarly to how the extensions of the cell move about in search of a target. The colorful background represents these extensions, as well as the ubiquity of these cells in the body. Acrylic paint on canvas. 40 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES Artist’s Statement: “Destroy” is the second of two works that embody the functions of the macrophage. This painting is markedly different in appearance, reflecting both the alternate quality being depicted here as well as the unbelievable versatility of the macrophage. The cell is capable of efficiently destroying intracellular contents, exemplifying the demolition aspect of the “police of the body.” Though different in appearance, this work is intended to represent the macrophage; the consistency is reflected by retention of the grid pattern, as well as the juxtaposition of dark center to multi-colored background. The focus is directed centripetally, with the direction of activity collapsing inwards as the cell fixates on its target within. The surrounding chaos dissolves into the background as the destructive machinery of the cell activates, moving about within in a controlled space. The scattered black lines represent the brisk nature of the destruction as well as the decomposed and fragmented target. This perceived quickness draws the eye toward the center and away from the borders, as does the completely bare grid pattern; this reflects the cell enacting internal processes as opposed to searching the body. Acrylic paint on canvas. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 41

SYNAPSES MATTHEW CHRISTENSEN, CMS ’21, ENS, MC, USNR Thank You for Your Service Thank you for your service. I’m not sure I deserve this. A grateful smile, a nod, a handshake, salute To the eager med student with much left to prove. Thank you for your service Is for those who have earned it. Through their actions and decisions, Given Purple Hearts, medals, ribbons. And yet, Thank you for your service Is not only for achievement, But to acknowledge all those Who lace up, march, and believe it. Thank you for your service. Your sacrifice. Your commitment. To swear the oath and speak the creed Of the soldiers, sailors, and airmen before me. Thank you for your service To the lifers, the recruits, And the eager med student with much left to prove. To all service members, In white coats or BDUs, A grateful smile, a nod, a handshake, salute. ■ 42 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES JACQU E L IN E VALKANE T, STAFF Medical Occupational Hazard — Pareidolia Art Artist’s Statement: Pareidolia is the scientific term for the tendency to perceive specific images in completely random or ambiguous visual patterns. Clouds are my favorite way of having a Pareidolia experience. In this you may (or may not) see human anatomy. I used my iPad and an app called Procreate to create this picture. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 43

SYNAPSES SWA P N A S H A N M U G I AV E L AY U T H A M , C M S ’ 2 0 Purkingenuity 44 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES Artist’s Statement: I was inspired by Santiago Ramon y Cajal’s drawings of purkinje cells. Their simplistic beauty comes forth in his work and I wanted to pay homage to him while also adding my own take. In this piece, I hope to allude to the creativity, humanity, and soul behind the biological concepts that we learn about in medical school. Pen and ink, painted using watercolor brush on PENUP application. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 45

SYNAPSES ROGER SOLL, MD ’78 Timothy We wore whites in those days. Short white jackets and white pants. Not like the long white coats the attending physicians wore. Although we had all graduated medical school, our uniform was a clear message that we weren’t quite ready to take full responsibility for the care of the sick and ill. It was a constant reminder of our place in the hierarchy of the hospital. Almost there, but not quite. Even more embarrassing as we left the hospital and stepped into the city, looking like milkmen as we returned home across First Avenue or further uptown. I had begun my internship at Bellevue only one month earlier. Just before returning to New York, I had been in India on a senior elective during my last year of medical school. My friend, Sanjiv, had arranged all the details. I worked in the All India Institute in New Delhi and then with tribal people in the Nilgiris, the Blue Mountains in the south of India. He thought I could stand to learn a bit of Hindu culture. Sanjiv was a good friend, but found me somewhat self-absorbed. “It’s not about you,” he would tell me. This from perhaps the most arrogant man I knew. I ignored his comments, but I thought that India would be exciting. The match came through while I was working in New Delhi. I was pleased that it was Bellevue. Although no longer in its heyday, Bellevue had its appeal. I knew I could have gone to better academic programs, but Bellevue seemed like an exciting place to be. The signs were in English, Spanish, Chinese and Hebrew. I knew enough about myself to know that I would not enjoy the overly academic approach of the children’s hospitals and certainly would not last at the private hospitals. So now I was back in New York, back at Bellevue, beginning my internship. On my second rotation, I was assigned to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). In those days, the NICU was arranged as a long row of beds in an intensive care ward. I was assigned the case of Timothy, a four-day-old infant who was critically ill. Timothy had been born to a postdoctoral student in nuclear physics only recently arrived from Taiwan. I don’t recall ever meeting his mother, but his father would visit frequently. Timothy was not extremely premature, but he had abnormalities in his cardiovascular status that made his care extremely problematic. He had persistent fetal circulation. Shunting blood away from your lungs is a good idea when you are a fetus, but an awful idea after you’ve been born. The diagnosis had been made by M-mode echocardiography. What was new then would be considered extremely primitive now. Our fellow, Jeanie, would cover herself with a black sheet to block the light, and conduct the studies. We would inject saline in Timothy’s veins to cause turbulence that could be seen as the blood flowed through the heart. Like the oracle of Delphi, Jeanie would then appear from under the sheet. “No change,” she would say. “Stay on the tolazoline.” Timothy lay in an open bed under a warming lamp. The ventilator cycled by his bedside and multiple IV drips hung over his bed. Although only a few days old, he had a grey appearance and a hardening of his tissues that was thought to be a precursor to death. 46 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES ROGER SOLL, MD ’78 I would have taken time to explain Timothy’s care to his very attentive father. But although obviously bright, Timothy’s father had not yet mastered English, so I would share only a few words with him. I labored on Timothy’s case. Each day I drew bloods, started intravenous drips, and wrote orders for mysterious drugs. I would not miss anything with this routine. Weeks passed, and each day Jeanie would appear from under the black sheet and tell us we had made no progress. The nurses moved Timothy’s bed further away from the nursing station, a sign that they had begun to give up hope. “Why are you working so hard?” a young but hardened nurse asked me. “Don’t you see he’s going to die?” This insight scared me. I had not considered that a child I was working so hard on would die. The nurses would joke about switching Timothy with the premature Chinese girl in the next bed who, despite her prematurity, was relatively well. Her parents did not visit, perhaps because of all the cultural barriers. “We could pretend we miscommunicated about the sex of the baby…” This routine went on. Each day I would appear before rounds to begin my work, and each day would end in the late evening hours with little progress having been made. As the end of the month neared, exhaustion had fully caught up with me. As I boarded the bus home after a 36-hour stretch on call, I was overcome with grief. I realized that, in all likelihood, Timothy would die. Despite all my best efforts, he would die. I also realized that the reason I had not recognized this obvious fact sooner was because I was so wrapped up with impressing the nurses, the residents, the attending physicians, that I never remotely entertained the possibility of this outcome. The weight of this realization overwhelmed me. I was not sure how I could go on. As the bus edged up First Avenue, I came to a simple realization: I needed to return to the NICU tomorrow and continue to do my best. To be careful, to be humane. Not to impress my coworkers who, no doubt, knew that I could do nothing to save Timothy, but for Timothy’s sake. It’s about Timothy. It’s about the baby. I needed to leave myself out of the equation. I returned to the unit the next morning. The morning ritual involved “collecting numbers” for data sheets and meeting in the corner of the unit to review x-rays. “Timothy,” the senior resident called to me. I passed the as-yet-unseen x-ray over. Gales of laughter followed. Clearly I had passed the wrong x-ray over. This was a normal chest film. Couldn’t be Timothy’s. Wake up and find the right study! I shuffled through all the films and returned to the first study…Timothy. A normal chest x-ray. We looked at the numbers, the blood gases, the urine output. Everything seemed to be improving. The attending physician, Harin, a diminutive man from Sri Lanka, picked me up and danced me around the unit. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 47

SYNAPSES ROGER SOLL, MD ’78 Later that day, Jeanie emerged from under the black shroud. “He’s better,” she said. “Wean the tolazoline.” I was relieved, humbled, awed. The crazy notion swept over me that Timothy couldn’t get better until I had learned my lesson. In the few days before I went on another rotation, Timothy steadily improved. His partner in prematurity, the little Chinese girl in the next bed, died mysteriously of bowel complications. Who can tell? Timothy’s father was grateful and overwhelmed. “Do you know what Timothy will be when he grows up?” he asked me. “A pediatrician.” Uncomfortable, I joked back that we had no reason to believe that Timothy had suffered brain damage. His father shot back at me with a steely glare. “No,” he said. “Pediatricians are the smartest people.” I stayed in newborn medicine. I went on to an academic career full of the kudos, competition, and arrogance often associated with the medical profession. But when I feel I am losing my way, I remind myself of Timothy and ultimately bring myself back to a more balanced perspective. “It’s about the babies,” I tell myself. ■ 48 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY

SYNAPSES CANDICE KOSANKE, STAFF Anemone Artist’s Statement: I found this starburst anemone (Anthopleura sola) growing in a tide pool in California. On the right side of the photo, the winter sky is reflected in the water. During low tide or when faced with a threat, starburst anemones close up, revealing a sticky outside layer that’s coated in pieces of gravel and shells. But when they are safe underneath the water, they extend their tentacles and reveal their beauty. Algae growing inside their bodies gives starburst anemones their green color. CHICAGO MEDICAL SCHOOL 49

SYNAPSES KUH N H O NG , MD, FACULTY X-Ray Reading at a Mission Hospital Artist’s Statement: Education is considered to be one of the most important portions of the service to foreign medical facilities. I have had the privilege of working at the Myungsung Christian Medical Center in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia for the last 5 years as a volunteer radiologist. I taught the medical students of Myungsung Medical College attached to the hospital. A group of 3rd year students were rotating the radiology department for 3 weeks and shadowing radiologists to learn the basics of image interpretation. I had the opportunity to show them the Interventional Procedures in the Angio Suite such as drainage of abscess and biopsy of mass lesions seen from CT Scans. The Ethiopian medical students showed great interest in learning anatomy, pathologic conditions and special procedures to get the diagnosis and treatment using different imaging modalities. I painted this memorable moment to share with students, faculty and friends of RFUMS. 21 x 25 inches, Oil on Canvas, 2018 . 50 ROSALIND FR ANKLIN UNIVERSITY