03/06/2025
HELLS OF WARD ROUND
The pager beeps at break of day,
A sound that fills me with dismay.
With coffee weak and scrubs half-clean,
I rush to rounds—where will we begin?
The resident recites the plan,
While I stand lost, a nervous fan.
Attending stares—my mind goes blank,
"Just present next!" My stomach sank.
The patient’s tale is long, unclear,
But SOAP notes must be concise, I hear.
"Labs are pending, scans delayed,"
Yet management must still be made.
The OR’s a sacred space,
Where surgeons move with practiced grace.
But when they bark, "Retract! Don't slip!"
My shaky hands lose all their grip.
The ER buzzes, fast, alive,
A dance of those who just survive.
Stitch a lac, tap a knee,
Try not to faint at what you see.
Then consults pile—Psych, Renal, Cards,
Each note a puzzle, each page a shard.
But through the chaos, one truth gleams:
We learn the most in wilder dreams.
So though today I feel unwise,
With pimping questions and sleep-deprived eyes,
Someday these trials will make it right—
When I'm the one who says, "Let's write
By Johnny Mbambo (3rd year)
