Author’s Note:

Wired

Inevitably, whenever I’ve told people that I’m both a medical student and a writer, they’ve almost inevitably asked me if I write about medicine. No. I do not. Several things light up my imagination—international travel, good books, the right combination of exercise and caffeine—but medicine is not among them. As cliche as it may sound, writing and stories are my chance to swan-dive into other worlds. Filling those worlds with what I do every day for work would be like filling the pool with concrete. A hard smack of reality.

Still. Even on the most beautiful summer pool days, there are times when you’ve had enough of swimming for a while, and you need to warm your feet on the concrete. I kept the medical connection superficial, but it’s there: the mental image of the plastic dummies in the medical school’s simulation lab, glassy eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling, gasping for breath through molded rubber lips.