Matters of the Heart: Love, Actually

Welcome - Himanshu Agrawal, MBBS, DF-APA

Student voices

The Moment I Knew Our Stars Aligned - Wentrell Bing 

The Journey of Love as a Medical Student - Alec Hafferman

How We Know We Have Hearts - Meg Mercy 

Departure  - Ndidi Ojiako   

The Small Wonders - Jennifer Nehls 

The Perseverance of Love - Gabriella Swistara 

Two Poems - Michael Kofi Esson

_____________________________________

Welcome to Matters of the Heart: Love, Actually

Himanshu Agrawal, MBBS, DF-APA 

 As a psychoanalyst-in-training, I have been asked to offer my perspective on this collection of essays and poems – about how love has come to be associated with the heart, instead of the brain, to which we naturally assign all other emotions.  

 

I have been pondering on this thought-provoking query with the seriousness it requires, and here’s what I have come up with so far: 

As you breathe in and breathe out Wentrell’s essay – where, in your body, do you feel the longing it evokes? 

Now, take yourself on the journey Alec describes – navigating the demands of medical school as a loving spouse about to become a new father, unexpectedly hit with worries of pregnancy complications and a premature birth – what part of your body starts pounding with anxiety and fear? 

Allow Meg’s musings to settle in as a lump in your throat – in which direction do you find it settling, as it slides down? 

As the tears well up from witnessing Ndidi’s account, notice – they are welling up from somewhere below, not dripping down from a bony cage above. 

As Jennifer’s Cranberries mixtape brings alive her buzz within you, where do you feel that buzz? 

Gabriella takes you through a corridor of facts and figures and chooses to end with this: ‘I believe there will always be things about love that cannot be explained.’  

Thrill, once again, to Michael's poetry, this time in praise of his beloved. 

Where does that note hit, within you? Is it the brain? 

It’s somewhere in your thorax, isn’t it. Maybe it’s the thymus, or perhaps a referred sensation from a parathyroid gland? 

Is there not something about settling on the heart that just feels… right? 

I’m not certain how my cardiologist wife might feel about these ramblings. I do wish I could write poetry for her with Michael’s swoon-worthy talent!  

I hope you revel in this labor of love with all your heart. 

Himanshu Agrawal, MBBS, DF-APA, is an Associate Professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Behavioral Health at MCW and co-director of the psychiatry clerkship. 

______________________________________

The Moment I Knew Our Stars Aligned 

Wentrell Bing 

Close your eyes. Take a deep breath. Think of your favorite person and how much they mean to you. Now, exhale…  

Did you smell that? The aromatic fragrance of love in the air. The calmness of security and happiness that swept you away as you focused on how good it felt to be in the moment with that person. Did it make you feel good or bring back any amazing memories and the hope for more? Ah, what a relief… What if every day could feel like that? The hustle and bustle of living in the mega society of medicine minimized at the presence of the one who makes you focus on the finer things of life. 

For much of life, I thought love was a fairy tale. Like seriously, what are the chances that you’ll find someone to make you happy enough that you forget to finish your manuscript? Let’s be serious here. The only real happiness comes from within. Then, out of nowhere, I met you and life as I knew it changed. My perspective of what it meant to be happy shifted from my studies to spending every minute with you. I wanted to give you the finest things in life. Well, there aren’t many other things in life finer than you. 

Gracious, I have this crazy gut feeling that I just cannot shake. Do I love you, this soon? How can you infiltrate my mind and cause a shift so drastic? What happened to me? YOU.  

Love isn’t a fairy tale. Love has no time limit or timeline. Love comes and goes as it pleases. One may even utter that it is like the seasons — it grows and decays like the leaves. Love brings a harmonious balance to our lives and challenges us to conquer our fears and be our best versions. It inspires generations and transcends cultures. Love does not have boundaries and creeps into our hearts when we least expect it. I once heard someone say, “when you thought it’ll never happen, is when love really happens.” That’s what happened when I saw you. You made my life seem like a movie, guy meets girl, and every day afterwards is like Brandy on Friday evening — it just feels right. 

But wait, wait, what if I’m not ready for that? What if I feel like love will never come my way? I can’t fall in love that fast. I need time. 

Ah ha, the pessimistic optimist. I was waiting for you. Were you always ready when things happened in your life? Surely, there are times when you didn’t think things would work out for you. How did you handle those things when they did? I challenge you to challenge yourself to look at love and life as two mutually inclusive threads of your being. Whether it’s the love you have for your friend or the love you have for that favorite, too small night shirt you should’ve thrown away years ago, you are capable of love and love has been with you since the moment you were born. Tragedy and heartbreak might have come, but you overcame it because you loved yourself enough to face the amazing new journeys of tomorrow. Then, each day, miraculously got easier and you healed and grew stronger. So don’t be discouraged by the lack of freedom in your schedule or absence of parental affection, love will come and make the changes feel like they should’ve always been there. We are human and we deserve grace. As life progresses, we learn how to love and be better at it.  

Now take another deep breath. Think back to last Christmas or last Valentine’s Day when you saw all those nice couple’s photo shoots. Don’t exhale just yet, listen to that small voice in your mind that says this would be nice someday. Let them come forward. That’s your reality. One day you will meet someone who sings your song and you guys seamlessly move to the beat of the same drum. May every day get better and better, and you become overwhelmed with peace in their presence. The hard times become a breeze and the smiles never fade. Oh, and the days, you’ll lose count because it will feel like you’ve known them forever. You are ready, you have made it this far. Trust yourself and allow love to guide you. 

You see the stars in the sky, they were made for you and me. May they soon align and radiate across the moonlight sky. 

Now, exhale. Quickly, I can’t have you passing out. I’m only 1/8th of a doctor. 

 

Wentrell Bing is a first-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Born in Columbia, South Carolina, he earned his bachelor’s degree in biology as a pre-med student at North Carolina A&T State University. His motto: “Believe in yourself when no one else does because success is not measured by position, but rather by the obstacles you’ve had to overcome.” 

_________________________________________________________

The Journey of Love as a Medical Student

Alec Hafferman

Balancing medical school and a family is a journey. A second-year medical student shares how love and strong communication helped he and his wife through complications of pregnancy and premature birth...

I have heard from many that relationships and love can be tested as a medical student. My wife and I married right before medical school started and our relationship has strengthened me through the rigors of medical school. We have had a different journey than most and I hope to share some wisdom that can benefit other medical students in a loving relationship.

It was a calm, autumn day as I was transitioning to my second year of medical school. I had just finished summer clinicals and was heading into my second year of didactic learning. During a campus meeting to discuss how clinicals went for the class, my wife called. She was 22 weeks pregnant at the time, and I was looking forward to hearing how her day was at work but had to text her that I was in a meeting and would call as soon as it ended. She immediately called back, informing me she had been admitted to the hospital for high blood pressure, which was concerning for her and our baby. I had so many emotions in that moment: feeling overwhelmed with school, fear of the unknown, but, more than anything, I wanted to make sure my wife was safe. Little did I know this phone call would be just the beginning of a new chapter for our relationship. The continuous balancing act and routine I built as a loving partner for my wife and as a medical student was unexpectedly flipped upside down.

Thankfully, I was able to work with the faculty at Medical College of Wisconsin–Central Wisconsin and reschedule my commitments for a later date so I could go to the hospital. My wife and our unborn baby were doing well. She was discharged two days later and advised to be on bed rest. While she was on bed rest, I did as much as I could to help her through this difficult time both mentally and physically. After 10 days of bed rest, she had an appointment with her doctor and was abruptly admitted again. This time, she was admitted “indefinitely.” At this point in my medical school career, we were doing clinical and academic courses simultaneously. My wife and I were also enjoying the journey as a newly married couple, expecting our first child.

Our new home became her hospital room, and my new bed was the beloved “dad couch.” After a month of sleeping on the “dad couch,” I feel qualified to give it a 3 out of 10 for comfort. I struggled to see my wife go through the mental and physical pain she endured day after day, while I felt overwhelmed with didactic lectures mixed with STEP studying, volunteering as a football coach, and interspaced clinical rotations. I allowed these feelings to build because I didn’t want to burden her any more than she already was. As the weeks went by, I noticed I was worn down and not communicating well with her. My wife and I learned through this journey how important strong communication is to love and a successful relationship. We made it a point to be upfront with our feelings and set aside dedicated time to discuss our days. This created a deeper connection during one of the most difficult times we both have encountered.

At 30 weeks and 2 days gestation, our baby boy was born. It was a wild ride. During the delivery, I had a growing curiosity as a medical student, watching the process, along with an intense amount of adrenaline coursing through my circulation system. But I knew I needed to be a husband first. It was an eye-opening experience being on the patient side, as I have seen multiple deliveries as a student. After experiencing labor, I realized I had not previously understood or given the respect needed for the roller coaster of emotions that labor brings. Interestingly, right before our son was born, the hospital team had hoped my wife could carry our baby until he was 34 weeks. His placenta had decided otherwise. At this point, our lives felt like we were floating in the ocean just trying to overcome the waves that kept coming as the rigor of medical school continued.

Throughout this journey, I grew close to many faculty members and students at my Medical College of Wisconsin - Central Wisconsin campus who gave my family incredible support. I am someone who does not like to burden others for help but have learned “it takes a village.” Please do not feel you are burdening those around you when you need help!

I remember the night before a musculoskeletal exam, my wife was rushed to a delivery room because it looked as if our son would be born soon. I frantically emailed the coordinators, afraid of how they would respond. I was extremely thankful they understood my situation. My wife and I were blessed to have our family nearby and are so thankful for everything they did for us during this journey. As traumatic as the journey was, we grew closer, surrounded by supportive family and friends. Our son was in the NICU for 56 days, which was another trial for us, but we knew how to face each “high and low” as a team.

Now, our boy is healthy, growing so fast, and it is spectacular to see him learn something new every week. My wife and I overcame and learned so much about ourselves and each other through the last year; some may say too much at this point in our lives. All jokes aside, we have strengthened our relationship because we understand each other more deeply through improved communication and emotional intelligence. Our thoughts have such an impact on our overall wellbeing and ability to be there for others. This has allowed us to take every challenge life brings with grace, knowing we can overcome any obstacle in our new family’s way.


Alec Hafferman is a second-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Central Wisconsin in Wausau. He was raised in Edgar, in rural, Central Wisconsin. He has been enjoying taking walks outside in the spring with his family as well as watching basketball.

_______________________________________

How We Know We Have Hearts 

Meg Mercy 

The pain we are collectively experiencing by living through current events, while damaging, also ties us to the reality of being human – of experiencing the ironically ubiquitous “unnatural” pain of humanity – which is itself the natural domain of health workers… 

We are holding tight to a strange, bucking beast – clinging by our fingertips to the survival of medical school – memorizations of drug classes and genotype mutations, believing we are in the business of saving and improving lives, all while seeing from a distance the massive loss of life and unimaginable suffering occurring in Gaza since October of 2023 (just three months after M1s began their medical education).  

Psychic Trauma 

Psychic Trauma is felt most potently in today’s world through the influence of social media as purveyor of constant, up-to-date news. Photos and videos of loss of life and limb and loved ones are transmitted haphazardly between our searches for recipes, black tie gala outfits, and explanations of cardiac valvular dysfunction. We are regularly inundated – without warning – by stories of atrocities we can do nothing to alleviate. Each glimpse into the tragic and the unfixable impacts us in ways not immediately apparent or resolvable.  

Signs of Goodness 

The fact remains, however, that if we were to witness such great degrees of trauma and loss of life without being impacted – without it hindering our homework efforts and without questioning our usefulness and place on this earth – we would not be well-suited to the weighty role of “doctor.”  

As physicians, we should care as much as – if not more than – other people do about the preservation and quality of life for others. When considered through that lens, the amount of suffering, helplessness, anger, and grief that we feel is in direct correlation to how much we wish to protect and improve the well-being of others’ lives. 

Our Normal is Really Not 

The truth is that what we have been living through is not normal, nor should it be normalized. What we have witnessed – again and again in recent years – though it is beginning to feel common, should not be accepted as business-as-usual. If we are to help people – which can only be genuinely done by those who view all others as deserving of life, dignity, and safety – we must feel the pain of those who are hurting, who are without access to an empathetic physician, a willing pharmacist, a skilled surgeon, and a hospital under no threat of imminent attack.  

While we clearly are not suffering anywhere near as much as those at risk of family and community eradication, we – as humans – are suffering with them. And this is not metaphorical. It is the deep, psychic pain of humans who wish so badly to help, protect, and heal, simultaneously facing their inability to do so.  

 

When Suffering is Good 

So, are we doing okay? Probably not. Would it be better if we weren’t suffering? Probably not. This suffering means that we are human. We are part of the human collective – unseparated by city, country, state, or oceans of distance.  

We understand the value of life, and that is what will make us excellent physicians. That determination to not accept the intolerable, to fix that which seems unfixable, and to reach those who are currently unreachable. The anger, rage, grief, and helplessness we feel is the same force that will drive us to help the suffering we meet in our own communities and through our future outreach initiatives.  

 

To Be or Not to Be Okay 

So no, you shouldn’t be “feeling okay” – at least not always. While we may have times when we forget the trauma – diverted by fun or focus – we shouldn’t be feeling fine and unconflicted in the midst of the horrors our fellow humans are experiencing. Does it make it hard to devote ourselves to our work and confusing when we feel happy? Yes. Does our inability to help the suffering people and impact these events leave us feeling helpless and impotent? It does and should. 

But if we ever questioned it before, now we know that we have hearts – hearts for others and hearts for the world – because they’re breaking.  

 

Meg Mercy is a first-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She is an anti-trauma advocate and educator, and an awardee of the Richard Ralph Winter Phoenix Rising Humanitarian Award. 

 _______________________________________

Departure   

Ndidi Ojiako   

In this essay, Ndidi reflects on the nature of palliative care through the lens of her family and an unexpected death during a trip to Nigeria…   

 

As I disembarked the plane at the bustling Port Harcourt International airport on December 24, 2018, the smell of smoke and dust inundated my lungs. It was a sweltering day, and I, my five siblings under the age of 16, and parents had just completed an almost 24-hour trip to Nigeria. We were jet-lagged, hungry, and had gotten on each other’s last nerves as most families do during traveling.   

During the long drive from the airport to the village, my siblings were sound asleep, their bodies still in the early morning hours of Illinois. I was determined to beat the jet lag that left me scattered and confused on previous trips, so I stared out the window, bleary-eyed, taking in the familiar and yet unfamiliar scenes of my father’s village in Imo State.   

Once we finally got to the village, we stopped at my paternal grandfather’s house. After a long battle with cancer, including being flown back and forth between the states and Nigeria for expert healthcare, my grandmother had passed away in 2017, and my grandfather’s health had subsequently deteriorated. My dad had had heated conversations with his caretaker’s back home over the past year, making sure he was getting the best care he deserved, so we were all worried about his fragile health and what we would discover upon seeing him for the first time in years.    

He was lying on the warm, damp floor of the living room when we walked into his house. The moment she saw him, my mother, a board-certified Palliative care physician, immediately changed her demeanor. With no stethoscope, she gingerly placed her head on his chest to auscultate his fluid-filled lungs. Looking straight at my father, she told him in a calm tone that my grandfather would likely die within the next 24 hours. The only thing we could do was to make him feel comfortable.   

This was not the bubbly, vivacious mother I know, delivering those flat, methodical words. As she shared the prognosis with my father, the tone of her voice was one I had never heard before. It was a tone reserved for outside the house; a tone reserved for patients. It was not a tone for talking about her own father-in-law, whom she had known for over 20 years. I knew that my mother was a doctor, but never fully understood what her work entailed until that day – the way she could recognize death almost immediately was jarring to me.   

As they continued to examine him, my father tried to get him out of his sleepy-like state by speaking to him. My grandfather finally recognized his voice and spoke to him in Igbo with a gargled voice. They were both relieved to hear him speak, assuring him that they were here now and would take care of him.    

We took a very careful drive back to my father’s home village and laid my grandfather on a bed by the living room. It was my first time seeing my cousins in several years and this was how we were reunited: knees chafed from kneeling on hard tile, surrounding the guest bed of my sick grandfather, who laid in the bed almost serenely. My father brought in a priest to pray over my grandfather. As the priest prayed, we all avoided looking at each other, our hands clasped together, and eyes closed in silence.    

My grandfather died a few hours after we prayed over him. When my father told my mother, she immediately started wailing and screaming his name out loud, with such deep emotion as is custom in Nigerian culture. This was the mother I knew, not the one I saw in my grandfather’s house with those emotions tucked into a corner of her brain while speaking in an almost robotic voice.    

Years later, I now understand that with her physician’s voice came a soft understanding that – though it was hard to deal with – death would come knocking on our doors one day, and all we could do was try to go out with dignity. This was the way my mother showed her love: through honesty, through finality, through understanding. Her love was shown both in the finality of her prognosis and intensity of her wailing when my grandfather passed away.    

Ndidiamaka “Ndidi” Ojiako is a second-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She graduated with a bachelor’s degree in integrative biology and a minor in creative writing from the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. In her free time, she enjoys biking, knitting, and trying out new restaurants. 

_______________________________________

The Small Wonders 

 

Jennifer Nehls 

 

In the dead winter, a light they stole  

from a neon pizza sign filled me with a buzz, 

The music was their laughter,  

I tried to find lyrics to keep  

the song playing, 

Micro fires spurt in my chest as  

they held onto me, 

Captivating my straw house. 

Time leapt,  

skipped the little moments, 

the quiet moments 

My life burnt on vitality. 

Save the Cranberries mixtape 

The case blackened of ash, 

I examined my buckled house 

Tiptoed on my skin, the frost returned 

This is no time bound,  

it crawls on its knees, lingering. 

I met you on a forested hill in a valley, we strode through a river  

Tracy Chapman sang to us until my fast car died;  

I had a feeling that I belonged 

We lace together, I branch to you, from you, and you to me, from me. 

These are the moments of small wonder 

The caress of an orchestra’s strings amusing our ears 

Who composed this piece, can we add our notes, 

The trees bending around our swaying bodies 

Is the breeze too strong, might we dance the whole way home 

The catch of colorful light through the glass, illuminating our space 

Should we unearth others at a thrift store? Absolutely 

The peaceful silence between quiet breaths, 

Could we hold hands while we walk, always. 

Time moves graciously now. 

  

Jennifer Nehls is a first-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Green Bay. She grew up in Green Bay and earned her bachelor's and master's degrees in biology from Eastern Illinois University. Her interests include writing, film photography, and cycling; she hopes to write a novel and bike pack the Continental Divide one day.  

_______________________________________

The Perseverance of Love: An Exploration of the Oldest Human Emotion 

Gabriella Swistara 

What is love? It’s a simple question. Yet it brings with it a multitude of propositions. What makes us feel loved? Is love something which can be quantified? Does it serve a purpose? People have tried to understand the concept of love for a long time, and different cultures have varying beliefs on the subject.  

In Greek mythology, for example, the story goes that we are each only one half of a whole, but Zeus separated us out of jealousy and fear so that we are to spend our lives searching for our other half. In other words, it’s the origin of soulmates. In Arabic literature, the story of Layla and Majnun is one of heartbreak, longing, and passion – said to have potentially influenced Romeo and Juliet years later. Time and again, across region and religion writers return to partnership and love.  

Love is all around us – a study on the psychology of music found that 67% of musical lyrics since the 1960s have been about love. “Love” evokes different images for different people. I, for example, think first of my significant other and the exact spot we were when I first told him I loved him, wrapped in his arms late one night and watching the Dark Knight. I also think of my wonderful family and friends, my long-haired cat spread out on my yellow couch, and the place that I call home.  

One fact of love is that it has palpable consequences: sex, marriage, and childbearing. Under this lens, does love function solely as an evolutionary means to an end? Some chemicals in the brain to serve a purpose and help get us to an end result?   

When looking at the statistics of when Americans first fell in love (34.8% of women report falling in love before the age of 18), it made me think back on my own teenage relationship, which at the time I would have considered love. Looking back, I don’t think it was. It had none of the true hallmarks of love: care, trust, loyalty, closeness, or affection. But if you had asked 17-year-old-me if I was in love with my high school boyfriend, there would have been no doubt in my mind that the answer was yes. This raises the question: when do we ever really know that we are in love?  

I think that maybe there’s a problem with the way we have all evolved to use the term. That this feeling we have towards others – this undeniable, overwhelming affection and care – is true, but we’re not always able to label it correctly. And that sometimes, even when that overwhelming feeling is not there, we’re so eager to label it as “love” nonetheless.   

A study conducted in 2017 showed that, when asked to assess what made people feel the most loved, behavioral actions and gestures counted more than verbal affirmations. Perhaps the age-old saying is true: actions do speak louder than words. I am grateful every day for my partner and the small acts of kindness he gives me: making dinner while I study, taking out the trash, making me laugh over text, or giving me a back rub.  

I’m not sure that love could ever be quantified, or fully understood for that matter. I believe that it’s subjective. And although people might generally agree on what makes them feel loved (being held, hearing “I love you,” receiving gifts), the degree to which we allow the emotions of love to penetrate us vary from person to person and the meaning of the word differs.  

I believe there will always be things about love that cannot be explained. But there is no doubt in my mind that it is love which brings me comfort when I lay my head on my partner's chest, brings me excitement when his name flashes on my phone, and brings me joy when I see him smile. 

 

Gabriella Swistara is a first-year medical student at Medical College of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. She earned a bachelor’s degree in writing seminars and psychology, with a minor in visual arts, at Johns Hopkins University. She is a member of MCW's writing group, the Moving Pens.  

_______________________________________

Two Poems 

Michael Kofi Esson

Alliza

By Michael Kofi Esson 

“Hi, I’m Michael,” not one for stargazing— 
She pulls me close, whispers in my ear, “Alliza,” a spell, 
 Leaving me lost in a daze. 

A goddess enthroned, lightning and thunder bow— 
Angels ascend at the mere mention of her name, 
Descending from a kingdom by the sea, in her starry eyes there is no escape, 
 Claiming my mortal soul, she forever reigns. 

Angels high above, and demons down below conspire, 
A symphony of envy, echoing in a celestial choir, 
Mortal men fall at her feet—a battle ground for the soul of the irresistible Alliza, 
Time ticks and tocks, narrating tales of the mysterious Alliza, 
Morning fades into midnight, bringing me dreams of the beautiful Alliza. 
 
Whispers of wind sneaks through my window,  
Carrying secrets from the enchanting Alliza, 
Thoughts float like a gentle breeze over a field of dandelions—  
Captivated by the mesmerizing Alliza. 
 
Then, in the hush of midnight, a touch; a shower of emotions pours, 
My heart’s desire—to love and be loved by the breathtaking Alliza, 
In the electricity of our shared kiss, 
Dreams unfold like petals, a wish granted by my love—the mystical, 
Alliza. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Whispers of Midnight 

By Michael Kofi Esson 

 
I’d rather whisper your name as full moon looms, my darling, yet, a secret covered in mist, 

I’d rather taste the nectar of your lips, the sweetest verse in the poems off my lips, as if dipped in honey—your kiss, 

I’d rather be next to you, our heart whispers of secrets true: intertwined like two paper planes on a string, soaring higher and higher, a howl on a full moon, 

I’d rather be looking into your eyes, deep—beauty beyond bounds of heavens high and oceans orange, warm—a whisper of midnight’s bloom, 

 
I’d rather be holding you in a lovers embrace, under the covers of twinkling stars where God whispers of midnight’s breeze, 

I’d rather be thinking of you, your words—delivered on the wings of butterflies to my ears, Cupid’s arrow pierces, whispers that echo in midnight’s atmosphere, 

 
 
I’d rather be dreaming of you, a tapestry of colors woven with intricate desires—of a soul on fire, 

I’d rather whisper in your ears, like coins in a wishing well, “I love you, forever,” while angels sing in choir, 

 
I’d rather call you mine—the queen of my heart—serenaded by rising highs of violons ‘til the end of time,  

But when it comes to you: 

My love, 

My muse,  

My secret,  

My dream, 

My queen, 

My midnight,  

I’d rather love you for one more forever— 

Michael Kofi Esson is a third-year medical student at MCW- Milwaukee. He was born and raised in Ghana, and migrated to the U.S at the age of 13. Although he once pleaded with his parents to keep him out of school due to his initial struggles with the English language, he now proudly thanks his parents for rightfully ignoring his pleas. As a psychology and biology major, Michael was presented with an opportunity to study literature in D.C while earning his degree. He never looked back. 

_______________________________________