Writer Body and Soul

A mass of fur darts out of the tall grass next to the road. It races in front of me. I clutch my hands to my chest and become stone.

“Ah!” I scream, feeling the sudden shock to my nervous system. Adrenaline floods into my bloodstream like a dam breaking. My sense of self returns a moment later, as my logic catches up with my senses. I close my eyes, allowing my body a moment to feel the rush of energy. I grin.

“Ha!” I exhale — a sigh of relief and humor. A rabbit stops ahead on the road, breathing heavily, watching me warily.

“Prim,” I whisper the name to the rabbit, holding its gaze. The rabbit considers, then nods to accept the connection. I return the nod with gratitude. 

I recite the spell again, “Ah-ha, Prim!” The bond seals. As I take a few gentle steps towards Prim, the rabbit’s breathing slows. Extending an open palm, I kneel down to my knees — first the right, then the left.

Prim hops towards me, and I notice that the rabbit has a limp to her back leg. “It is nice to meet your acquaintance,” I say. “My name is Sean. Do you mind if I take a look at your leg?”

Prim blinks and then lays down with the hurt leg facing me. I rub my palms together, and I gently pick up the leg. I notice a few lacerations, which have already stopped bleeding. “I’m going to wash off some of this dried blood and mud. It may hurt, but it needs to be cleaned.” Prim blinks again, unconcerned.

I reach in my bag to grab a water bottle. I wash the rabbit’s leg. Water drips away pink onto the Earth. The leg looks like it had been caught in a snare. Perhaps, it was a farmer who meant to catch a coyote and found a bunny instead. The bone feels intact, though the rabbit tenses as I pressed deeper.

“You’re badly bruised. I recommend staying off it for a few days.” I wipe my hands on my pants and stand up. The rabbit seems much smaller from this perspective. 

“Do you have a safe place to go? Where is your burrow?” The rabbit continues to lay helplessly on her side, staring up at me with one eye as dark as the night sky. A dog barks in the distance. Prim’s eye dilate with fear, and my heart shatters. Perhaps it wasn’t a snare after all , but the trappings of a canine. The rabbit remains frozen, seemingly exhausted.

“You can come with me.” Prim blinks one more time. I pick up Prim and place the rabbit in my hat. She closes its eyes to rest. Then I carefully position the hat on my head, snuggling it down a little tighter to be safe.

“Quickly now,” I say to Prim. “We’re going to be late for clinic,” glancing at my watch. The watch is a gift from my parents. The watch face is a dark navy blue. The longer, faster hand takes a full day to move around the watch face. While the shorter, slower hand completes its revolution a month at a time. 

I pick up my pace, connecting my breath to my footsteps. My legs feel strong, traversing a path that I walked hundreds of times. My body knows the way, which allowed my mind some space to wander. The storm last night disrupted my sleep. It was a fitful frenzy of dreams and doubts. 

I am a relatively calm and level-headed human. I grew up on a ranch, where things move slow. We observe the cycles of life, and our family dies at home with loved ones nearby. While ranch life certainly comes with a lot of work, we also recognize the times when deep rest is needed.

I became a physician to help people. My personal statement waxed poetic about human rights, service, and learning. At the end of the day, I just want to help people.

Then I actually entered into the medical field. My first year of medical school was my first year away from home. It was a shockingly different pace than ranch life. It was an uprooting that left me feeling constantly on-edge. I watched a mountain of debt grow more and more daunting each semester.  The amount of knowledge that I was expected to accrue made me feel guilty any time I wasn’t studying. Then I was thrown into my next milestone: residency.

Once again, this was a time of big life change for me. I lost myself in a toxic love triangle, stuck between the demands of work and the insecurity of an ex-boyfriend. Boundaries became impossible. What I liked and disliked was no longer up to me to decide, so I convinced myself that pleasure was in the pain.

When I finally finished my training, I felt like I was starting fresh. My teachers passed the practice of medicine onto me, and I now I had the opportunity to develop my own practice. I met and married my husband Bear. I finally got to decide.

“Prim,” I say to the rabbit in my hat, “I decided to quit my job today. Well, maybe not today. Or even tomorrow. But I made the decision that it is going to happen.” Prim shifts her weight to make herself a little more comfortable. She seems to approve. “I’m going to quit my job and become a writer.” Though I keep quiet the part where I haven’t written anything in months. I’m stuck in serious writer’s block. Utterly uninspired.

A glistening of light catches my eyes. Morning sunlight reflects off water. The storm from last night must have washed out the road. The earth is saturated. I stop at the edge of the mud and consider my options. I look left and see mud. I look right and see mud. The only path ahead is through. 

I take my time, stepping slowly and carefully through the mud, as not to slip. My shoes become wet and soon my feet. I silently curse myself. I wish I remembered to bring a change of socks, but the day started in a hurry. When the last thundercloud left with a clang of defiance in the early morning hours before dawn, I awoke agitated and jumped out of bed.

It seems I rarely practice medicine anymore. Instead, I’ve been dubbed a provider. Sometimes this makes me feel like I am simply there to provide the password for patients so they can get on with their day. My favorite therapeutic tool is time and patience, and no one seems to have enough of it.

When I wrote my personal statement a decade ago, I thought I would be treating neglected tropical diseases. I thought I would be serving the underserved. I thought I would be educating patients on how to live a balanced life. Instead, I’m often met with mistrust. Who needs advice from a doctor anymore, when you have AI?

I start to cross the bridge that separates my road home from my road to work. I stare at the river flowing beneath me. It moves with particular ferocity today, quick and spreading from the rain. I look upstream first, watching the water flow towards me. I look down at my reflection, distorted by the current. A future filled with illusions. Another busy day of writing prescriptions. I will invariably sign off on pills to remember and pills to forget; pills to make people happy, and pills to make people horny; pills to lose weight, and pills to provide nutrition. Prim starts to fidget.

“I know,” I say. “Only sixteen patients on my schedule today: eight in the morning and eight in the afternoon.” Though of course, I will end up taking care of a dozen more, through the faceless messages, refill requests, and returning lab work. The battle against paperwork is relentless. I take a big breath in, and I blow it out with a grunt — halfway between a warrior cry and a moan.

I turn to face the other side of the bridge, looking downstream towards the endless forest. The trees were dense with a thick fog hanging in the canopy.  “They say spirits live in the forest, and they tell stories of the past. Stories long forgotten and untold.”

As I watch the water flows with ease and effortlessness, I see a turtle laying on a log near the bank of the stream. It basks in the sun, decidedly unhurried. “It looks like the turtle wins again.” Prim taps her foot impatiently on top of my head. “Oh yes, we best not be late. Busy day ahead of us.”