Shifts that long are commonplace in the medical world – especially during training – and heck even 24 hours might sound short to some physicians. Regardless, it was 2016, third year of medical school, hour 16 on a surgery rotation and I was sitting on the hard twin bed in a musty, dimly lit call room wide awake, waiting for the pager to go off, too nervous that if I slept I might miss its piercing beep. Between practice questions for an upcoming licensing exam my mind wandered. I remembered back to my first job – the experiences at age 15 that started this all. I never thought working in healthcare was going to be my passion. I certainly did not think older adult care and geriatrics was in my plans. In fact I wanted to go to culinary school and open a restaurant.
Slowly, we joked, we laughed and at times were sad as someone passed away. No matter what though the stories kept me coming back. Stories of Cincinnati’s past, of 5 cent hamburgers and of doing house work by hand, raising a dozen kids or teaching for forty years. Stories of substance, that were real and filled with emotion. No matter how many stories I heard, and in some cases heard over and over again, they never got dull.
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I saw their stories stolen away by Alzheimer’s…
What if we could give life to these stolen stories…
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