Takeaway
Not every patient can be cured, but every patient can be cared for. Presence and small acts of humanity are still important even when medical interventions reach their limitations.
Creative arts in medicine | October 15, 2026 | 2 min read
By Isaac Vingan, MD, PhD, Johns Hopkins Medicine
Gossamer strands of moonlight and hope
weave across the river’s surface.
Broken,
whole, and broken again.
From the door, the patient lies eyes half shut, intubated.
Echoes of anoxic brain injury, herniated on arrival, and central DI.
These are the weft threads wending through the warp of
“Claire de Lune” gently rippling from the beside speaker.
The tension threatens to fray the fabric.
He’s reached the end of his line
—I cannot fix that.
What I can do is read my orders;
another trial of DDAVP,
a reconsultation to neurology;
another brain-death exam.
I want to ease him in his crossing.
But there is no room next to the tubes
where I can rest a silver
so he may pay the ferryman as he wades into the river.
I’m sorry mom,
I’m sorry son,
I’m sorry sister,
I cannot take your pain away,
I cannot fix what’s causing it.
I drape myself in this threadbare fabric.
When I can—
I extend an arm and welcome someone in to share the warmth.
Together we mend.
This piece was inspired by a heartbreaking encounter caring for a patient with poor neuroprognostication but not meeting criteria for brain death. While discussing his care, the nurse—diligently tending to the patient—played classical music in the sunny corner room.
In the novel “All the Light We Cannot See” by Anthony Doerr, Claude Debussy’s classical piano composition “Claire de Lune” is used as a symbol of hope for the wayward soul to support periods of growth and transit. In the musical piece “Bigger than All of Us” by Above & Beyond, the metaphor of a universal tapestry expresses the connection and influence we have on one another. Together these symbols anchor this poem.
As an intern, I’m growing through daily moments of vulnerability and heartbreak. I’m learning to lean into them. They remind me that healing can and should be delivered in many forms: Practical, like putting in timely orders; Therapeutic, like gentle physical touch; and Partnership, like supporting members of your care team.
Ultimately, there will be times when we can’t heal patients, which can feel heartbreaking. It’s important to remember that we’re not doing this alone—together we learn from heartbreak to deliver warmth and healing.
Author’s note: Thank you to the Johns Hopkins Bayview Internal Medicine Residency Program Chiefs for encouraging us to put thoughts into writing so we can grow from each other’s experiences.
This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.