Abstract
Cecilia stared into her morning coffee. The steam rose in a lazy spiral from the murky liquid. Cafeteria coffee, she sighed, gazing languidly from her balcony seat to the hospital entrance below. She sat in early spring sunlight filtered through half-washed windows and ruminated on the past year, her third of medical school. It hadnt been easy. She had a sensitive soul, and it seemed that the faculty had tried to pound it out of her. "Youre too quiet," her attendings had scolded, "too gentle. You need to be more aggressive, faster-talking." More like us is what they meant to say. It left her feeling like her character had been attacked, and shed grown monumentally discouraged. Usually Cecilia censored herself from these thoughtsthey made her throat knot in anger. She took another sip of coffee, tried to ignore its acidic bite, and allowed her mind to wander onto the story of a patient shed just met. The girls name was Mona, a 10-year-old with autism. Cecilia, exhausted this morning, had reluctantly walked into Monas world. "Hi, my names Cecilia," shed begun, "whats your name?" It was a half-hearted gesture to get the girl to respond. Mona seemed oblivious.Preview Only. This article cannot be rented because we do not currently have permission from the publisher.
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