The Human Masterpiece

A miracle, a machine, a maze – the human body. 
The masterpiece stretches yards in each direction; 
no single room with a wall large enough to contain it, and 
no single light strong enough to fully illuminate it. 

I enter medical school having only heard of this famed piece. 
Through hearsay, I have heard – supposedly – that there are nerves originating from the brain and spinal cord that innervate every distal process. 
Through relatives’ painful experiences, I have heard – supposedly – that there are arteries supplying the heart that can have devastating consequences when occluded. 
Through undergraduate classes, I have heard – supposedly – that there are thousands of different tiny machines that drive every molecular reaction needed for survival. 

I enter medical school eager to behold this famed piece – 
the intricate details, the brushstrokes, the message. 

With my first class, I am placed into a completely dark room containing one part of this piece, and I am told to learn about the brain. 
At first, I can only feel my way around.
Slowly, I turn on a few light bulbs, providing a glimmer of light that bounces off the masterpiece. 
I can barely make out the web of nerves and tracts that seem to be traveling to other parts of the painting, but they are traveling too far for me to see with my limited view.
I stay longer, straining and working and thinking. 
More bulbs turn on; I see some cavities that I am told can enlarge if the fluid within them does not drain properly. 
Even more lights turn on. 
I can now see the masterpiece to be a deep magenta or salmon or redwood. 
It is an intricate mix of yellow – dopamine – and red – acetylcholine – and brown – serotonin. 
In places where the yellow hue is decreased, then there is Parkinsonism. Where increased, schizophrenia. 
I step back, in awe of the brushstrokes that I have seen thus far. 

Soon after, I move to the next room, the lungs. 
This room already has a few bulbs on; I know the main shapes of what I should see – restrictive or obstructive. 
But as more lights turn on, I am amazed at the variety of histological signatures that coalesce into these two basic shapes. 
One of the familiar nerves from the previous room traverses to this part of the masterpiece. 
I can start to catch a hint of the artist’s patterns, but it is not enough to understand the message; I want to see more. 

Through a side door, I move to the next room that I am told is the heart of the matter. 
Thankfully, there are several light bulbs already lit – some of my family members have had intimate interactions with this part of the piece. 
Through intense effort, I am able to screw in a few more bulbs, and I am again stunned by the newly revealed intricacies - 
on each part of the artwork, a series of levers labeled alpha, beta, M, D, and more. 
Groups of these levers dot the whole room, some of them rusty and others waiting to be pressed. 
All around the room, several doors lead in every direction; 
but before moving on, I step back to see if I can piece together the masterpiece. 

Unfortunately, I realize that some of the bulbs in the previous rooms have started to flicker and fade
I visit them to painstakingly tighten each again. 
However, as I step back, I stare at the numerous rooms still shrouded in darkness. 
I yearn to quickly illuminate the parts that I cannot see, but I know that is not possible.
I know that I have to visit those rooms one by one, to assemble the lights, to study each brushstroke from up close, to study each part on its own. 
And even then, I will be able to discern only a mere outline of the overall masterpiece – the beauty of the human body that has driven me toward and through medicine for so long.

From the author: This poem was a reflection of the roots of my medical education - what initially drove my interest to become a physician and the amazement I had when I first learned these topics - during the first one and a half years of my experience in medical school. As I worked my way through courses organized by each body system, each course opened my eyes to a particular part of the human body and began setting the foundation of medical knowledge that I hope to build on.

Masih Babagoli is a third-year medical student interested in global health and the economic and structural determinants of non-communicable disease care.