Yeah, I know how late this post, I am the ultimate procrastinator, but I don’t blame myself this time. I blame the city and all of its distractions. Living in New York City and working at Weill Cornell was surreal. Between moments of benevolence and of debauchery, I saw humanity in its raw form. I saw humanity walking in a 3-piece suit down 7th avenue, I saw humanity picking up escorts at 3am, I saw humanity the size of a potato wiggling in a plastic case barely able to open her eyes, and I saw humanity gasping for his last breath.
New York City never sleeps; the bars close at 4am as the cafés next door open for breakfast. You feel alive, electric, as if your blood could match the neon signs that light the city. The hospital never sleeps either. The hand of death waits for no man, yet the doctors still fight through the dawn to keep him at bay. Pregnant bellies turn to crying babies at every hour. Doctors are the bringers and defenders of life. To them, 9-to-5 doesn’t exist.
Here, I tell the story of how my view of life changed in 8 weeks at Weill Cornell through a series of chronological short stories.
Note: Patient names have been changed