JPOMA Creative

Creative Musings

POMA wants The Journal of the Pennsylvania Osteopathic Medical Association to be a safe space for all DOs to have a voice and be heard. Opportunities to contribute in all content areas are open to all osteopathic medical students, residents and physicians. Share your thoughts, ideas and submissions via email to [email protected].

*Views expressed in The Journal of the Pennsylvania Osteopathic Medical Association are solely those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the editorial board, The JPOMA, or POMA unless specified.


Vertical Relief

February 2025 | Vol. 69, No. 1
Written by Richard Donze, DO

Every time I hear the
in-coming chopper
after wondering who
might be going out
what head bleed ven-
tricle fail blasting mar-
row slashed viscus ARDS
needing ECMO I recall
that township hearing
when the Hilltop Estates
Homeowners’ Associa-

tion contingent lined up
at the mike then unfurled
the developer’s original
drawings on the long
table in front of the
commissioners faded
but still clearly showing
the vertical relief lines
and argued that their
elevation brought them
closer to the hospital’s
roof and that much

nearer the noise and
lights at all hours and
at only 25 miles to the
downtown trauma cen-
ter ground transport
had always been more
than enough but lost
by one vote so the heli-
pad came and the chop-
pers came and now when
they come besides won-
dering the what of what’s

going out I also wonder if
the who is ever a Hilltop-
per whose spouse child
parent will wait for the the
blades’ slow whirl to
whip up to vertical lift
then hop in a car and drive
those 25 miles of metro
traffic snarl white-knuck-
ling the steering wheel
with fear and hope with-
out time to recall ever

opposing it. 

 

Shortage

February 2025 | Vol. 69, No. 1
Written by Aloki A. Mehta, LECOM OMS-III

Drip drip drip
The patient has E.coli
Symptomatic for 10 agonizing days
Severely dehydrated
With a potassium of 2.6

Drip drip drip
Only one bag, they reluctantly decide
They have to ration
The IV fluid supply
dwindling by the hour

Drip drip drip
Severe pain shoots through
Potassium chloride
Setting the veins ablaze
No buffer, no cushion
It burns

Drip drip drip
Helpless, I hold my mother
Pleading for her to keep
The IV in
It burns, it’s too much

Drip drip drip
She is begging
Give me something else, please.
No more fluids, they said
We do not have enough
Not even
for you

Then make it stop.

Hours pass
Feels like centuries
Depleted before
Replenished after

But the pain
It lingers
She tells them no more
Render them helpless
But they listen

They know
They need more IV fluids
For all their patients
But they don’t have enough
There still isn’t enough.

 

A Medical Student’s Understanding of Anatomy Through Variation and Perseverance 

February 2025 | Vol. 69, No. 1
Written by Lauren Raziano, OMS-I, Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine 

The experience of the anatomy lab is a rite of passage in medical school, a humbling, extraordinary journey into the intricacies of life itself. 

The lab was overwhelming. The clinical smell of formaldehyde, the stark lighting, and the responsibility to care for a cadaver. As I looked around at other students who are also experiencing this environment for the first time, I realized that the lab is more than a classroom; it’s a space where the boundaries of science and humanity blur. I remember standing with my table mates, asking myself the question, How do you approach a person who has selflessly given their body for your education? But as I began, layer by layer, the fear gave way to focus, and with each lab, I uncovered both anatomical structures and parts of myself I had yet to understand.

There were moments of frustration when I couldn’t name a nerve or distinguish one muscle from another. I had to admit when I could not orient myself to the body before taking the next step, which gave me the confidence to ask for help from the anatomy assistants and professors. In these times, I learned the value of patience and persistence. While completing a pectoral dissection lab, I exposed the cephalic vein in the deltopectoral groove and proudly declared it my anatomy gold star. As I progressed through my musculoskeletal course, I grew more confident in what I knew. I learned that growth isn’t always linear—sometimes, it’s revisiting the same path until clarity emerges.

Anatomy lab also taught me the importance of teamwork. My friends and I often came into the lab after hours to identify structures like the internal pudendal artery or trace the sciatic nerve pathway, celebrating when we correctly identified these items on our practical exams. These moments reminded me that medicine is a collaborative endeavor founded on shared knowledge and mutual respect.

Although we are taught that comparison in medical school can contribute to imposter syndrome, in the anatomy lab, comparison is critical for understanding that each person is physically unique. The anatomical variation that each person has tells a story about humility. Every structure, from the largest organ to the smallest vessel, told a story of resilience and adaptation. The human body is a testament to the incredible capacity for survival and healing. As I studied it, I found parallels in my own journey—adapting to the rigorous demands of medical school, balancing stress, and finding strength in vulnerability. 

The cadaver before me was a bridge to the past—a reminder of the pioneers who first dared to study the human body. Their courage and curiosity laid the foundation for everything we now take for granted. Dissecting anatomy is not just about understanding the human body; it’s about embracing the complexity of life and the resilience it demands. As I continue this journey, I carry these lessons with me, grateful for the growth they have inspired and the privilege of learning from those who have given so much.  

Reviewed by Peter F. Bidey, DO, MSEd, FACOFP, Dean and Chief Academic Officer of Philadelphia College of Osteopathic Medicine 

 
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