Kamika Cooper
“my healer”
digital photography/illustration
response

Art and Science in Medicine
By Urmilla Khanna
Inspiration piece

“Jonathan has an earache?” I said in a half-angry voice as I took an emergency phone call from Mrs. Martin and fumbled to turn on the bedside lamp. It was three a.m.

“Yes doctor, I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, but he has been crying non-stop all night. I have given him Tylenol every three hours instead of every four as you usually recommend, just to help us get through the night, but it has not helped at all.”

I heard Jonathan’s wailing in the background and my anger turned into empathy. I listened to mom’s story and assessed the situation. Jonathan had been well and had been playing outdoors for long hours that day. It had been a hot and humid week in Washington D.C. He did not have fever, cough, cold or sore throat. The pain came on rather abruptly, sometime after his shower in the evening.

“Well, you have two options. You could run him over to an emergency clinic or would you rather wait to see me in the office. I could see him the first thing in the morning,” I said.

“If I take him to the emergency room, I will probably not be seen for three or four hours, anyway. I’ll call your office and come see you the first thing in the morning,” mom said.

I was in my office at nine the following morning, browsing through the day’s schedule. Mrs. Martin walked in soon thereafter. She was carrying four-year-old Jonathan propped up on her shoulder, her face anxious, her hair disheveled.

“Let me get you settled in a room,” the nurse walked the patient into room #3. She often referred to this room as the room with a view because it had a large picture window. Jonathan’s piercing cry penetrated through the walls and closed door of the exam room. I knew I had to attend to him right away. I came to the doorway of room #3 and spoke directly to Jonathan. “I am going to come and see you in just a minute and mom and I are going to see if we cannot make your pain any better.” Hearing my voice his howling changed to quieter sobs. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can,” I reassured him.

I collected his chart, my stethoscope and otoscope and walked in to see Jonathan. He was sitting on the table clutching on to his teddy bear and blanket. His eyes were red and swollen, teeth chattering, face smudged with tears and mucus. I let a few minutes go by letting mom vent about her fretful night. As I stood listening, I was wiping tears off Jonathan’s cheeks. He blew his nose into the tissue I held up for him. Next, I helped him lie down, covering him with his blanket and tucking his stuffed toy beside him. I ran my hands over his brow and hair, gently massaging his scalp, giving him more time to settle down. Now I looked at his throat, his nose, his right ear and finally went to the offending ear. There was no surprise for what I saw. He had a flaming red and swollen ear canal, making it impossible for me to view the tympanic membrane. He had external otitis, commonly known as swimmers ear, a very painful condition. The warm humid summers of Washington DC area are notorious triggers for this kind of yeast infection in children’s ears.

I explained it all to mom and discussed my treatment plan. I would pack the ear canal with a wick soaked in a medicinal ointment. The child continued to listen intently.

“I’ll ask the nurse to get the tray ready and I’ll be back shortly,” I was now speaking directly to the four-year-old. Before I left the room, I took another moment to explain the procedure to Jonathan in a language that he would understand. As I spoke, I was stroking his limp forearm and clamp, sweaty belly. His anxious eyes were no longer a stream of tears.

As I was stepping out, he sat up on the exam-table, smiling. “Can we go home now?” he said to his mother. “My ear is all better.”

That ear was a ball of fire and was surely extremely painful. I had felt the stinging pain myself as I was examining him.

Jonathan had taught me a lesson that I have never forgotten—the healing power of touch—a lost art in present day medicine.

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Kamika Cooper
“Becoming Literate”
Digital Illustration
Response

#149
By Robin R. Peace
Inspiration piece

A few hours ago
Something was nestled in my womb
It started off small
I never really noticed it at all
But then it happened
A burning ray of light
The something began to grow
It began to expand
The pain spreaded to every core of my body
I was being raped, all over again
I went numb, unable to cry for help
The something kept growing
Ripping and tearing tender muscles
Pushing and prodding into all my intimate places
It forced itself out of my womb
Into my heart
Into my mind
And screamed out of my throat
With a wail of a banshee
I could not stop it
The impulse drove me
I picked up pen and paper
Stories and tales from far away places
Sprang from my wrist
I became one with the something
As it pulled me down into its world
Its voice became my voice
I was remade in its image
The creative fire that burns
Saved me as it raped me
And now I long for its violent embrace

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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.

Kamika Cooper
“Soul Survivor”
Digital Illustration
Inspiration piece

Sole Survivor
By Robin R. Peace
Response

Is it a victory if you’re the only one of your species left? I was of a proud race called the Ecorce. We were talking, thinking treelike humanoid creatures who inhabited planet Earth millions and millions of years ago, when Earth was ruled by dinosaurs. The Buisson ruled the plains and the Arbre ruled the mountains. We lived in harmony until that fateful day when the Buisson princess fell in love with an Arbre prince.

Crown Prince Jocovan of the Buisson said, “No daughter of mine is going to marry a Arbre! They are tall, skinny, and their leaves die off in the winter. Their only use is to bare fruit we cannot eat, but they are constantly getting eaten by the herbivore dinosaurs.”

“But Father!” Princess Kana of the Buisson said, “I love Willet and he loves me. He does not mind that I am short, fat and always green. He doesn’t mind that my fruit is poison to animals and to our people.”

“Do you know what freaks of nature your children would be? Look at Likio, the Ecorce’s historian. He is tall and fat, half of his leaves are always green and the other half dies during the winter. His fruit is poisonous to some animals and other animals can’t get enough of him. Fortunately, no one wants him for a mate. He can’t reproduce his ugliness. I will not love a freak for grandchild. I have arranged for you to marry Prince Hanri in the morning,” Jocovan said.

When the Buisson spread out in the plains, to prepare for their nightly hibernation, Kana fled to the mountains of the Arbre, to be with her love.

Crown Prince Miksu of the Arbre said to her, “You are welcome here, Kana. My son, Willet, is eager to be your husband. You’ll be married to Willet in the morning.”

Kana hugged Miksu and then ran into Willet’s embrace. Kana thought they would live forever as husband and wife.

When Jocovan awoke the next day to find his daughter missing, he decided to punish her and the Arbre without consulting his father, Pilio, the King of the Buissons. He waited until nightfall and then lit a fire in the mountains. Many Arbre died that night, including Willet. Enraged at the loss of his son, Miksu retaliated and loosed flaming arrows down into the plains, which killed many Buisson.

As they battled using fire, I, Likio hid amongst the non-humanoid trees and recorded everything. Soon the great race of the Ecorce was destroyed. I waited until the great fires on the plains and mountains burned themselves out. I then tilled the soil and broke off seedpods from both halves of my body and planted the Buisson half in the plains and the Arbre half on the mountains. I could do this without mating. A secret I had kept to myself. It was a long process, but I have nothing else to do with my time.

Once I completed my task, I went to the top of the mountains and wept bitterly. I did not know how long my children would take to germinate. He would have to teach the about the great kingdoms of the Ecorce and teach them that having mixed blood is nothing to be ashamed of.

A few months later, the saplings were about a foot tall. However, they had not begun to make sounds or try to move their bodies. I wondered how long it would take. The next day, the sky darkened as a huge meteor crash-landed into the Earth.

It killed off the dinosaurs. My saplings composition had changed. They turned into non-humanoid trees. When I tried to leave the mountain to see if I could replant with new Ecorces, I found I could no longer move or vocalize. I was a non-humanoid tree. Time passed and soon the humans subdued the Earth. They stopped by and picked my stems clean of its fruit. Winter came and half my leaves fell off.

I do not know how long I have been a non-humanoid tree. I was so old; I towered over the other trees on the mountain. Soon I felt that my body was dying, being eaten alive by caterpillars. All my leaves died and stopped growing. I was saddened but I was glad. I was ready to die. But I was so insignificant, the humans did not bother to cut me down to put me out of my misery.

One day, in the distant, I saw humans come with their axes and saws. I sigh to myself. They will pass me by. However, one of them stops and points to me.

“This will do. I can make a sturdy bedroom set with this one,” The man with the red cap says.

The hatless man nodded and they began to cut away my branches carelessly. The pain was more than I could handle. When they get to my base, I know I will expel my last breath of oxygen. After millions of years, I am finally going home to my people.
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Note: All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it. Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.