April 2020

From The Synapse Chairman, Thomas Nguyen: Introducing Our Interprofessional Issue

The trouble with beginnings is that they are untouched country and unscuffed soil—every footprint made stark by surrounding flatland. We take one step forward, and there is no “return” key, no option to “undo.” We stare out onto an earth entirely unknowable and feel the weight of possibility stunned into a great oak, its shadow looming over us. 

The idea for an interprofessional issue arose during the current editorial board’s very first Synapse meeting, in the cold and weighted days of January, after many of us had spent winter break hibernating. It was soon decided that the April issue would be interprofessional, in part to help obtain enough contributions at a busy time of year. The idea became especially fitting in late February, when news of the coronavirus flustered through our nation and life as usual came to a resounding halt. 

These days, we wake up with the world grasping at our shirts with an unshakeable grip. It demands that we listen. Now more than ever, students in different health professions schools and colleges at Texas A&M University need to learn from each other. Ressiel Nicole Villegas, a first-year student in the School of Public Health, writes in her essay “Pandemic: Through the Eyes of an MPH Student,”  

Marshal Covin, a second-year student in the College of Veterinary Medicine, writes in his essay “How Veterinarians Keep You Healthy,” 

The authors and artists in the April issue of The Synapse are both our anchors and our captains, grounding us in their world and then helping us navigate it. They are the string lights we hang in times uncertain and fearful; how we turn to them again and again to illuminate crossroads unseeable to us. 

Heroes Facing the Storm

by Heidy Frias, MD

Together Alone

by Gilbert Ramirez, DrPH, MPH

I wrote this years ago (8-21-04)—seems more appropriate today as I think about our front line of healthcare workers. 

Alone

Always alone

Lost in this sea of humanity

Forever alone

Alive

Barely alive

Drowning in this sea of humanity

Simply alive

Searching

Hopelessly searching

Clinging to this sea of humanity

Drearily searching

Longing

A lifetime of longing

Drenched in this sea of humanity

Sinfully longing

Weeping

Silently weeping

Melding in this sea of humanity

Happily weeping

Waking

Suddenly waking

Shouting amidst this sea of humanity

Unexpectedly waking

Quenching

Finally quenching

Tasting this sea of humanity

Soothingly quenching

Surrendering

Willingly surrendering

Bathed in this sea of humanity

Selfishly surrendering

Alive

Spiritually alive

Cresting this sea of humanity

Ecstatically alive

Alone

Blissfully alone

Understanding this sea of humanity

Together alone

COVID-19, Spanish Translation

by Samantha Fine, M2

Pandemic: Through the Eyes of an MPH Student

by Ressiel Nicole Villegas, 1st year MPH student

You go to class, take notes, and do your assignments like the diligent student you are. It’s one thing learning how to track an outbreak, hosting a “pretend” outbreak press release and creating culturally sensitive messages to spread awareness about the outbreak. However, it’s another thing ... when you’re watching it unravel before your eyes.

I would have never imagined I would watch a pandemic unfold during my first year as a Master of Public Health student. It honestly feels like a fever dream. At first, it was really intriguing watching the public health professionals track the virus, how each country was responding to it, and how the global public health system was working together to fight against this tiny virus that was wreaking havoc in the lives of many.

Everything I have learned and “practiced” during my classes came to life as I watched actual public health professionals host press conferences discussing this new virus that we knew so little about.

Then … the numbers rose and rose and it came to the United States. In a blink of an eye, everything changed so suddenly. I watched as slowly the shelves emptied and people started drifting further and further away from each other.

Email after email. Change happening all so abruptly.

It was intriguing until it wasn’t.

Thousands of lives were lost, millions are affected, and many more fear the uncertainty of the future.

The cracks in our healthcare system were exposed, and clearly we were not prepared for something like this. Public health was never really a priority in our healthcare system, and unfortunately … we are paying for it now.

Disappointment.

Anger.

Fear.

Helplessness.

Sadness.

Pride.

Hope.

All emotions I have felt during this unprecedented time in our lives. I am disappointed in those who are taking this pandemic lightly. To those who continue to go against the advice of public health officials and continue to not distance themselves from others … I ask myself, “Why?”

I am angry because as an Asian-American, I have read many messages and have seen many pictures that are not culturally sensitive about this virus.

I fear that false information will continue to spread and that the inherently selfish nature of humans will take over, causing more and more lives to be lost just because people will not obey recommendations.

I feel helpless because I am sitting at home while public health, medical, and other essential professionals are out their risking their lives every day. I feel helpless because I wish I was out there helping too … not writing papers, working on group projects, studying for exams.

I feel sadness because I miss life before this pandemic. I feel sadness for those who have lost loved ones and are unable to say goodbye. I feel sadness for those businesses who are closed, or those who have lost their jobs and are unsure of how to provide for themselves or their families. I feel sadness for those separated from their families and loved ones, unsure of when they will receive a simple hug.

Yet after all of this … I feel proud.

I feel proud of how the global community has come together during this difficult time. The rawness of humanity has been exposed, and although we all feel alone, we are alone together.

I feel proud to be pursuing a profession in public health and working toward improving the lives of many.

Lastly, I am hopeful.

I am hopeful because I know we will overcome this.

I am hopeful because I know that the next generation of public health professionals are preparing themselves to be well equipped to handle the aftermath of this pandemic.

I am hopeful even though I am just a student now; I know what I will learn today will allow me to impact the future.

Bare Bones

by Cerci Hammons, M1

Aggies in Peru, and COVID Too

by Dani Shahin, M2

On the evening of Wednesday, March 11, I was sitting in my hotel room, enthralled by a new book. It was 11:30 p.m. when all of a sudden my roommate ran out from the bathroom in a panic. “Dani. Oh my God. Peru is a level 2.” Earlier that day, as we were working in the clinic, we had heard the announcement that all schools in Lima had been closed until further notice. We thought it was an overreaction to an already spiraling situation. Surely the Peruvian government was blowing this out of proportion; when we had boarded our flight just 3 days earlier, there had only been 1 case of coronavirus in Lima. Immediately both our minds began to race: “What does this mean for us?” “How did it jump from a level 0 to a level 2 so fast?” “Will we have to come home early?” “Will we have to self-quarantine?” “Will we even be able to get back into the US?” One week later, I’m sitting in a new hotel room. This time, I am writing instead of reading. This time, I’m in Waco, Texas, preparing for my psychiatry rotation in the morning. I will admit, I’m just as scared that I won’t know what to expect in the coming days. But this time, I hold onto the memories of the 5 miracles in 5 days that I experienced in Peru, and I know that God is looking out for our world. 

·      Miracle #1: On March 9th, one day after our departure, all Texas A&M study abroad programs were canceled. In other words, if flight F464RN from Houston to Lima had not been scheduled for March 8th, we would have never made it to Peru. 

·      Miracle #2: Not only did we arrive safely in Peru, but we completed the entire trip without being pulled out early. This allowed our team to interview, examine, heal, and pray with 700 patients—patients who sought physical and spiritual comfort at our clinic, in the midst of an international panic. 

·      Miracle #3: I was given the opportunity to reunite with patients I had treated last year, happy to see them healthier this time around. This gave me tremendous hope for the few very ill patients I saw for the first time this year. God’s consistent care, despite my lack thereof. 

·      Miracle #4: I witnessed children learning how to read the Bible. I became emotional watching these kiddos, as they waited for their parents to be treated. They, too, were receiving a remedy that would last a lifetime. 

·      Miracle #5: The Peruvian border closed hours after we arrived back in the States. And to make your systolic blood pressure rise a few points more, we barely caught our flight back home. It was a matter of minutes (and begging the flight crew to keep the loading doors open for the rest of our team). If we had missed our flight, we would still be in Peru right now, like the other Americans currently stranded there: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.wsj.com/amp/articles/americans-stranded-after-peru-closes-borders-over-coronavirus-11584827948

Full disclosure; since starting this reflection, so much has changed. I am no longer in a Wacoan hotel room, but currently back home in College Station. I have been pulled out of clinical rotations and am currently practicing “shelter-in-place,” waiting for more news about how to proceed with my studies. While everything about my life—and probably yours too—has changed, at the same time nothing has. The God of this world is still looking out for His creation. He still answers prayers. And He is still a miracle worker. “Be still and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.” Psalms 46:10

Hello, My Causas

by Jeremiah Ling, M1

Causa:

1a. A Peruvian staple of mashed potato typically served with chicken, fish, or avocado.

1b. A colloquial term for friend.

Before my trip, I knew very little about Peru, and to be honest, most of South America as a whole. Although the planning, fundraising, and prep for the mission trip had been ongoing for months, I admittedly focused less on it and more on my studies. Right up until the Friday before we left, my mind was not focused on the Peru Medical Mission and more on cytokines and chemokines I needed to know for my Infectious Disease test—classic case of a slightly neurotic medical student, I guess? As a result, I spent that Friday night hurriedly packing and cramming my scrubs, clothes, and medical supplies into a small duffel bag, desperately hoping I wouldn’t forget anything I needed. The next morning, I triple checked I had my passport the entire car ride over to IAH, and the next thing I know I was seated on the plane departing for Lima. That first day of travel was incredibly long. Making sure the team, supplies, and luggage ended up on that plane was quite the ordeal, especially since we took around 40 huge bins filled with medical supplies and pharmaceuticals that all needed to be secured and weighed at the airport. We ended up crawling into our hotel around 3 a.m. Sunday, and I slept like a rock that first night.

The next week we spent in Peru was primarily serving a more impoverished neighborhood of Lima, partnering with a local church there. The physicians on our team (7 in total) would be presenting patients from the medical students. As students, we worked with translators and took detailed patient histories, performed focused physical exams, and ultimately offered a diagnosis and prescription for drugs after checking with a physician. In med school, we have a class called the Practice of Medicine or PoM for short. This class teaches us short mnemonics and essential skills that are useful during patient encounters, and I found myself leaning on those heavily throughout the week. OPQRST is a trick we use to remember how to approach the patient’s chief complaint — onset, palliating/provoking, quality of pain, radiation, severity (1–10), and timing. I used this trick a lot.

Taking my first patient history was exciting and horrifying at the same time. Having done the vast majority of my clinical practice in sterilized settings at school or with standardized patients, I was a bit overwhelmed having to take histories in this converted exam room (which was actually just the stage of the church). One huge blessing was the ability to work with translators or with a teammate who spoke Spanish. That first day, I worked with Ana, my M1 classmate, and she was a huge help, translating and working with me to assess the patient’s needs and find out their story. During that first day, I saw firsthand how patient histories and physician dialogue are so vital to achieving proper care. A patient can present with one issue that seems entirely unrelated to what is bothering them. For instance, a patient complaining of vision problems could actually need treatment for their uncontrolled diabetes that is leading to their visual changes. Proper patient care needs to consider the entirety of a patient’s story and not just their present state!

All in all, that first day was really like going from swimming in the kiddie pool at school to being thrown into the ocean off a boat. It was truly an eye-opening experience into how hard it is to provide care and how much detail and attention are needed to get to the bottom of a patient’s real issues. Some key points I learned from that day were:

1. Type 2 diabetes is rampant and severely impacting many people.

2. Long-term care and monitoring would be the ideal way to treat many of the patients.

3. Diet and exercise are hard to examine and even harder to suggest in poor communities.

4. Many cases involved the presentation of a myriad of issues. We tried our best to solve some and hoped for the best for most.

The rest of the week went much like the first day, with quite a few first-time experiences. What I cherish from the week is the reminder to be focused on why I want to pursue medicine—especially as a first-year medical student and even more now that we find ourselves amidst a pandemic.

One of the translators taught me that ‘causa’ is slang used to refer to your friends, and I made tons of new causas in Peru. I think that’s what is important to hold on to in this scary new reality we live in: to be a friend to others and to work together to overcome the uncertainty that lies ahead.

I don’t know what will happen in the coming weeks or even months, but I do know that this week was an unforgettable experience. Now, I am more excited and determined than ever to become a physician and continue to help those in need.

Curacíon más allá del cuerpo: My Experience in Peru

by Steven Jacob, M1

Every medical student at some point in their time comes to an understanding of what it means to serve and put oneself beyond his or her comfort zone to meet the needs of a patient. Since the very beginning of my M1 year in medical school, I heard it constantly, and even thought I understood it. To say that a trip to Peru on a medical mission would transform my understanding of serving in rural poverty and allow me to reflect on questions about the human condition and spirituality would be an understatement. I saw both the joy and sorrows that come with becoming a physician and embraced it. For every thought of triumph that I had in coming to a correct diagnosis and helping to alleviate the suffering of one patient, I also saw the limitations in treating other patients without availability to specialized care and resources—how could I heal if I couldn’t meet their needs?

On March 7, 2020—I, along with my colleagues in the College of Medicine, students from the College of Pharmacy, practicing physicians, and other volunteers embarked toward Miraflores, Peru, during spring break under the auspices of Texas A&M’s Christian Medical Association. I felt a mix of exhaustion, anxiousness, yet excitement. Exhaustion from having just spent the previous month engaging in the rollercoaster of the Introduction to Disease block, and excitement reflecting on my past experience on a previous medical mission trip in Guatemala years before that solidified my commitment to medicine. My anxiousness, however, came from the uncertainty of this trip. How would the people of Peru respond to us? Did I have the capacity to treat the patients I would be seeing and also find the courage to talk with them about faith and address other aspects of their health beyond physical needs?

These questions came to be answered over the course of our first clinic days. We served in Miraflores, and I spent my first day at Manantial de Vida Baptist Church seeing patients under the mentorship of M3 student Brittany McCune. Our first patients presented with complaints of arthritis and vertigo. I felt very underqualified at first—unsure of myself in having the knowledge to effectively administer proper treatment for them. As the day progressed, I looked to Brittany for guidance and was impressed by her calm demeanor and empathetic nature with each patient encounter. It inspired me, and one of the best pieces of advice that I received from her, along with the attending physicians who were helping us with treatment, was to not see the locals as just patients—but embrace them as individuals holistically. Medicine, like any profession, requires starting somewhere, and in terms of my career in medical school, having the responsibility and privilege to treat my patients that day was a huge start. I became a student and healthcare provider. What I found most profound that day was not the chance to come to a diagnosis after critically thinking through differentials, or performing a focused physical exam or a supervised anti-inflammatory knee injection for a crepitus patient—but to talk with them about their life, hopes, and spiritual relationship with God, and understand how I as a provider could bring some semblance of healing through the guidance of Christ.

I had gained confidence over that first day, but I learned it was not through my own doing, but by the grace of God that He put in me. The next few days were another challenge altogether. I was part of a team setting up clinics in remote locations of Miraflores—triaging and treating patients from areas where locals hardly had access to basic healthcare facilities. On one of the days, I found myself assigned to triaging patients in the morning with 5 different locals speaking to me in Spanish at once asking for medical aid. Seventy-plus patients were in line waiting to be seen along with their children, parents, and distant relatives. My first day was eye-opening in helping me step beyond my comfort zone and connect with the people I hoped to treat, but this experience showed me about the extreme suffering that some of these remote locals experienced daily. I came to understand from triaging patients in the morning that most of these people did not or could not gain access to a local primary care physician. For some, our team was all they had in terms of getting any healthcare.

One patient with whom I had an encounter, Vilma, was a mother of 3 children who initially sought care due to her concerns of having enteric parasites in both her and her family. What started out as a standard patient interview became something more when I noticed a lump underneath her left axilla. After consulting one of our attending physicians and speaking with Vilma, I learned that she had this lump for 2 years but did not seek any care for fear of her prognosis being something akin to breast cancer. Her last visit to any physician was when she gave birth to her youngest daughter 2 and a half years ago. She cried with me when thinking about the lump, fearing that should it be malignant, she could be leaving her 3 children behind without a mother to raise them and be involved in all stages of their life.

This put me at a very challenging place. How can I bring comfort to her in this time and also be transparent with her? We were limited in our resources and knew she needed more specialized care to determine what her lump might entail. Her concern with having breast cancer may have been a possibility, but a lymph node swelling secondary to infection could have been another. When talking with her about her fears, I put my own fears aside of thinking how to treat her and decided to speak with her about her faith and values most important to her. She had a devotion to her relationship with God but feared the concept of where she would go should she die and who would watch over her children should that happen. Empathy is powerful when you can open your heart to someone and let them know that you are listening. I found by holding her hand, praying with her, and letting her know that she is not alone in this experience—she could find reassurance knowing that she is cared for and that her concerns matter.

The attending physician ordered prescriptions and vitamins to address Vilma’s and her children’s needs, but in the end, it was talking to her about her faith in Jesus Christ and encouragement to connect with a primary care provider that gave her hope. The attending physician and translator helped her get connected with a community worker to find a physician to address her concerns with the lump. I, as a medical student witnessing this, got to appreciate the power of empathy and faith that brought comfort to a patient even when we had limited resources. The assurance that the continuity of care would be followed up by the church, as well as those from other medical schools who visit the same area during other parts of the year, only solidified this.

In the Girl There’s a Room

by Kiralyn Brakel, G5

A Marine Stands Guard

by Brian J. Nixon, M3

Steady as a crane in the summer sun

Eyes fixed like those of an eagle

Straight and erect as one of nature’s most grand creations.

A shadow crosses its face and is held steady over the eagle’s eyes.

The long statues together, unwavering for hours.

Steady as a crane in the summer sun.

Eyes fixed like those of an eagle

Silent, Motionless, Focused, Proud.

A truly inspiring image!

Caged Animal

by Brian J. Nixon, M3

Trapped like a caged animal

The bars are up and made of steel

The world moves on

And talks to me like a child

My body is limp, but I am here, trapped

As they talk about me without regard

They let off an awkward smile

Because they don’t know what I am anymore

I’m human,

But I’m trapped inside

I try to move, speak, or even yell

But nothing comes out

My flesh now traps me

I think of the days when I was a child

These damn legs would carry me everywhere

My arms would swing a bat or throw a ball

Now I sit, or exist here, trapped

As they continue to talk to me like a child

My legs get damp as I lose control, 

But I can’t call out

They’ll notice when I get picked up

I’m a caged animal

I’m conscious but unconscious

I’m a spectator of the world

That I was once a part of 

But now I live in some other

My body has failed me, my mind is left

So here I sit, alone, caged, and frustrated

As I try to break into the world

But I cannot

Because I’m a caged animal.

Home

by Brian J. Nixon, M3

Their faces are all the same

They all look the same

They sit curled in the mud

Soaked from the incessant rain

Worn from the stresses

Tired from the struggles

Sullen from exhausted hope

And numb because of the hatred

Rain drips off their noses

And splashes to their boots below

Inside are feet swollen and blistered

They stare at some invisible invader

Their eyes never move, they just sit, staring

As the rain continues

Their minds are slowly escaping

They are all exhausted and beaten

But remain determined and fierce

They think back to the days

Days when they were on dates or vacationing

With family on Christmas morning or dinner

Or taking a hot shower

They think back to the days

Filled with peace and happiness

They think back to the days of a comfortable bed,

a pillow to lay their head upon,

or a sturdy chair to support their aching backs.

They think back to the days called … home!

So-Called Healer

by Brian J. Nixon, M3

Life is fragile

It can be taken from anyone

It can be taken by anyone

But I’m a healer, they say.

Life is escaping this person

Nothing can be done to help

This person will visit God

But I’m a healer, they say.

This person is slowly leaving

Their last breath escapes them,

It feels like my last too

But I’m a healer, they say.

The life is gone

The body is still and pale

It jerks and then is still again

But I’m a healer, they say.

The life is forever gone

Just flesh and memories remain

The family cries and prays to God

But I’m a healer, they say.

The family cries out and stares at me

Their eyes … you’re no healer, they say

As I pull myself together and exit the room,

To my next patient who smiles when I enter,

Because I’m a healer, they say.  

For the Class of 2020

by Neha Rao, M4

Eight Students Every Medical School Has

by Jordan Garcia, M3

The dedicated studier …

Current whereabouts unknown. Last seen taking pictures with family at the White Coat Ceremony.

The what-should-we-focus-on-for-the-test? student …

Pursues an answer more reasonable than “Everything’s important.” Has a history of interrupting the professor during lectures, but nowadays, limits it to emails and texts, to ensure that, in accordance with the law, they keep at least 50 yards away from the building.

The chronically confused …

As a senior undergrad, went through the demanding process of applying to medical school. When Match results came out, announced to everyone that their life-long dream had come true–and that they were going to be the greatest veterinarian ever.

The world traveler …

Believes life's too short to be stressed out all the time. A test on Friday merely means that Thursday's open for a quick scuba dive off the coast of Tahiti.

The perpetually angry …

Cites three reasons why their grades aren’t good: 1) Every time they go to lecture, their car gets ticketed by security. 2) The test questions are written unintelligibly and make no sense. 3) This is ridiculous.

The nervous test-taker …

From start to finish, is sniffling, throat-clearing, and knuckle-cracking. Just learned new relaxation techniques and now, during exams, can be seen alternating between the warrior pose and the floating lotus.

The go-getter …

Previously spent time in Mexico, Pakistan, and India, where they introduced new methods for producing disease-resistant wheat. Most recently, after discovering that the only thing truly immune to the coronavirus was their resumé, worked with the nation’s top scientists to reverse engineer it into the new COVID-19 vaccine.

The balanced and well-rounded ...

Has been told numerous times that no, we can’t make it to your Fun with Watercolor class.

A Letter to My First Patient

by Sarah Elmer, M1

Dear Donor, 

Though we never had the chance to meet during your lifetime, I will carry you with me for the rest of my medical career. I have often wondered what our interaction would be like if I had the chance to meet you now. Would we laugh? Cry? Maybe a little bit of both? 

I remember the first day I met you during our anatomy course. Before we started learning from you, my classmates and I took a moment in the lab and prayed for you. It was difficult to articulate what your donation meant to us. Though we had never met, you demonstrated the utmost degree of selflessness by allowing me and my classmates to learn the intricacies of human anatomy from you. “Thank you” does not even begin to express the amount of gratitude that I have for you and for the incredible gift that you provided us.

Though I should have been focusing on learning about the anatomy of the shoulder during our first lab, my mind kept wandering. You were someone’s daughter—you may have also been someone’s mother, grandmother, sister, or wife. In your life, you had a personality full of its own idiosyncrasies. Maybe you loved curling up with a warm cup of tea and a good book on a rainy day. Perhaps you loved being outside on sunny spring days in Texas, with the bluebonnets blooming and the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. These ideas about you and your life swirled around in my head as I worked to make meaning of the incredible opportunity to learn about the human body. 

Eventually, I got better about focusing on the material we were learning during lab, but I never stopped thinking about you as a person. During the four months that we spent together, I not only learned about anatomy, but I also learned about the beauty of human life and the power of human connection.

When speaking with non-medical friends and family about the joys of learning anatomy, I often received the same question: “Wasn’t it hard for you to be in a room with people who had died? Didn’t that make you sad?” 

The short answer is: yes and no. Though I was sad that your life and the lives of our other donors had come to an end, I did not see the anatomy lab as a place of death and sadness. In fact, I learned that the anatomy lab is full of life, even though it is home to those who are no longer living. Sometimes, I would pause during lab to watch the interactions that my colleagues had with our other donors. When I saw my classmates delicately working to find every nerve and artery and muscle in their donors—I didn’t see death. 

I saw life. 

I saw my classmates’ potential. I saw a future cardiac surgeon learn about the intricacies of the heart so that she could save someone having a heart attack. I watched a future obstetrician/gynecologist learn the complicated structures in the pelvis so that he could help a mother bring life into the world for the first time. I observed a future radiologist learning how to interpret anatomical findings on an x-ray so that he could provide someone with a life-saving diagnosis before their disease became terminal. 

Though our anatomy course has come to an end, I am still grateful to you, my donor, every single day. Though I may never know anything about your hobbies or your family, I do know one thing: You had an enormous heart. Your choice to donate your body allowed me to experience one of the most sacred opportunities for any medical student—to learn about the human body so that I may use that knowledge in the future to save the lives of others. 

When I walk across the graduation stage in a little over three years, I hope you know that I could not have done it without you. Thank you for being my first patient.

With gratitude, 

Sarah Elmer, M1

Medicine as Meditation

by Astha Mittal, M2

How Veterinarians Keep You Healthy

by Marshal Covin, V2

When someone bites into a hamburger, they often do not take the time to appreciate the safety of the beef. How is it that Americans can consume commercial meat nearly every day, and yet hardly ever get sick from eating a diseased or parasite-infested animal? What guarantees are there for the safety of our food? The answer is simple— veterinary medicine. In fact, U.S. law requires a veterinarian to inspect the safety of every piece of meat that reaches our dinner tables. This demonstrates just one of the frequently overlooked, yet vitally important, roles that veterinarians play in maintaining human health. 

Animal healthcare is generally the most recognizable role of the veterinary profession; however, animals are not the only ones who benefit from veterinary visits. Through vaccinations, veterinarians protect the community from a slew of diseases that can jump from animal to human. One vaccination given to animals is against rabies, which is almost always fatal when symptoms begin to show. If not for veterinary intervention, many zoonotic diseases would be far more prevalent in America.

Laboratory-animal veterinarians are another example of the many roles veterinarians play in our society. They work to help improve both animal and human health alike through life-saving research projects while also ensuring the ethical treatment of animals. Many human illnesses, such as cancer, heart disease, and pancreatitis, occur through the same mechanisms in animals. Because of the similarities in how these diseases progress, lab-animal veterinarians can use animal models to find novel treatments or cures for many of humankind’s illnesses. For example, vaccines against malaria, polio, and influenza were developed using mice models, and many drugs used to combat HIV and cancer were developed with the help of research primates. 

I often get asked why I didn’t go to medical school or pursue some other human health profession. After all, it’s still four years of school with the option to do a residency, all for half the salary of a physician. However, what drew me to the veterinary field was how I got to combine my love for helping people with the love I have for helping animals. To me, the veterinary field was the best of both worlds. So, the next time you bite into a hamburger or take your dog to the vet, remember how veterinarians help more than just your animal— they keep you healthy too. 

Magenta

by Se-Jung “Raina” Hong, P3

One by one, she examined the various colors

that seemed to enlighten her gloomy mood

which can’t be modified to another

She is eighty-nine,

a petite lady whose engine has not expired

because she constantly transforms its design

off she goes

Her destination? Not a clue, only she knows

Ultimately, selecting the bright magenta,

this ignited an enthusiasm that glowed

and spread over to my agenda

I strolled her to the dining room for lunch;

consisting of bland, dull-looking ingredients,

never increasing her appetite to munch.

She stared into her glass of water and tiny pill,

trying to hide the rough confusion:

unaware that a missed dose could make her ill.

She is eight or nine,

a petite girl whose engine will never expire

because she constantly creates lanes

off she strides

Her diminution? Not a worry, only she denies

I reassured her the pill was a raindrop,

waiting to be immersed into the atmosphere

where she can choose any shade to shop.

Staring with those twinkling hazel eyes,

notice how she's enthused.

Finally, she picked up her utensils and ate:

delightful epiphany reminded her preferred taste.

Background of my poem: In memory of Vera. She was a resident with Alzheimer’s at a retirement community that I volunteered at. I volunteered from 7th grade until 10th grade. The last time I was able to see her was in 2015. The time I spent with her inspires me to wonder endlessly about what she felt.

Synapse Board Members

thank you:

A special thanks to ... 
Dr. Karen Wakefield for being our faculty editor, and
Dr. Barbara Gastel for serving as editorial mentor.

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