The echo of Mother’s Day still lingers—soft, tender, and complex. Time rushes forward, but emotions unfold on their own schedule. That’s why we’re sharing this collection now, in the quiet that follows the celebration—when reflection can settle in more gently. Every mother-child relationship tells

I was randomly shown this American news YouTube video the other day—you know, the kind with dramatic lighting and slightly-too-loud piano music in the background—and I almost scrolled past. I almost skipped it, but something made me stop. It was about a Stanford doctor, Bryant Lin,

Scanning the notes on the Monday morning before ward rounds, I had a foreshadowing that this particular family was going to be challenging to speak to- multiple family communication notes over the weekend, documenting the medical team’s repeated attempts to explain to the family what was happening to their

I saw you, as a baby, Wrapped and swaddled in a coat of darkness Helpless, unable to fend for yourself Desperate cries were all you could harness I saw you, as a baby, Who had done nothing to deserve this plight Scared, scarred, shaken Unequipped to fight or take flight

I first met Associate Professor Cheong Pak Yean when I was a medical student, assigned to shadow a GP for my clinical attachment. I was fortunate beyond measure that it was him – the same family doctor my parents had taken me to when I was sick as a teenager. Little

Yesterday I saw Amidst a sea of grey on metal frames Sharp words and tender actions A gruff growl to stop her kicking Shoes taken off as gently as a slipper Mother, he spits but softer glances Her tremors encased in his calloused hands The cough racks through her question

“Listening is talking for him; there’s an eloquence to this kind of attentiveness; it’s rare.” ― Abraham Verghese, The Covenant of Water All clinicians experience from time to time what we call the “difficult patient.” For just a moment, as you read those words, reflect on what arises within

I looked at my patient’s wife this morning, crying, and felt I was witnessing a beautiful sadness. When the husband first came in with a stroke six weeks ago, I remembered the wife crying helplessly. Both of them, in their 80s, were very loving, and were termed “Romeo and

Watching Noah Wyle on screen in an ER is like welcoming back an old friend, except now , it is not set in Cook county General Hospital, Chicago, but the “The Pitt” an emergency room in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. He is now more jaded, and he has aged. As an Emergency Physician,

Back in my day We did 36 hour shifts Came back the next morning Traced old notes, retrieved Survived 8 calls per month We did all the ECGs Had 40 patients to round Transcribed medication lists We pushed stainless steel trolleys piled up with patient files After ordering antibiotics We