David Marulanda, M1
Drexel University College of Medicine
Glassy, glossy plastic reflecting the rising sun
Into the stifling humid summer air.
The dark, decadent coffee in my hand almost done.
Early morning New York City still sleeping without a care.
Security glances up robotically.
Less than a second and I’m through,
But I can feel his eyes scan my badge, my face, my soul.
I smile, he doesn’t.
“Good morning,” I say to the empty lobby.
White halls filled with the scent of sterility -
Alcohol, reminding me of summers
With my grandfather in Colombia,
though he chose aguardiente and not hand sanitizer.
The elevator opens and I float up.
Only the number on the wall tells me where I am now.
Ten. Nine below and more above all the same
To the uninitiated, like patients and me.
I notice my sweaty palms, my chest thumping.
I am a medical scribe,
In charge of nothing, unseen, unnoticed.
I make a difference I tell myself as I meet my team.
I’ll make a difference on
My first day
At work, on the unit, in healthcare.
One day I’ll be a doctor.